


third time's the charm

by purple01_prose



Series: blow us all away [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers: Windblade
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Food Service, American Politics, Artistic Liberties, F/F, F/M, Female Character of Color, Female Protagonist, Flashbacks, Food, Gen, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 02:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 91,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple01_prose/pseuds/purple01_prose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting through college is enough of a struggle without assholes camping down in your life and demanding you make some room for them. Still, Windblade's pretty sure she's got it handled. </p><p>Mostly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is largely experimental--while I currently possess at least four parts, updating will be sporadic at best, as I started my senior year of university and I'm working on graduate school stuff. _However_ , I'm really loving where this fic is going, so, here we are.
> 
> Warnings for OOC behavior. There are some reasons for this--a lot of Starscream's (and by extension, _most_ of our given characters, actually) tics and issues come from being immersed in a war/conflict environment for actual millenia. In this case, that conflict doesn't exist, so while I think I've kept to the core part of his personality that we're given in canon, some of his other issues are only barely there or not there at all. I'm very much aware of this.
> 
> Other considerations: I do not work food service myself, but I do work retail, and there's similarities, particularly where I work. Some of the stories cited through I have actually experienced. Please, be kind to people in service and retail.
> 
> I owe some serious thank yous to my dear friends [mizzymouse](http://mizzymouse.tumblr.com) and [ospreysoul](http://ospreysoul.tumblr.com) for providing a sound board. Particularly to mizzymouse, for whom this is not their fandom but most of the funny events/gags came from our weekly excursions. 
> 
> Face claims are as follows: [Starscream](http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1784293/), [Windblade](http://www.imdb.com/name/nm4050835/?ref_=nv_sr_1), [Chromia](http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1512166/?ref_=fn_al_nm_1), [Skyfire](http://www.imdb.com/name/nm3295837/?ref_=nv_sr_1), [Skywarp](http://www.imdb.com/name/nm2106637/?ref_=nv_sr_1), and finally [Thundercracker](http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0930898/?ref_=nv_sr_1%22). 
> 
> We're just going to presume that like the Puritans of old, Americans had like three really weird years of naming children. Keeping track of human!names is too difficult for this monster, so everyone keeps their names.

**NOW:**

 

“You sanctimonious excuse for a scientist, _no one_ is above the law!”

 

“Oh please, we all know that if you can prove your work has merit issues just—poof!” Damnit, he was distracted by her lipstick again. That red lipstick was going to be the death of him. Again.

 

“You mean if there’s _privilege_ in the mix, right, of _course_ things would go poof,” she said poisonously, her blue eyes spitting fire up at him.

 

“Well, how _else_ ,” she got up to open the door in response to him, and he followed after to shut it instead. She eyed him as he rested his hand next to her head on the door. So much for his _plans_.

 

“Science has to give way to justice, just like _everything else_.”

 

“How do you define justice?” he demanded. She set her jaw and planted her hands on her hips, which naturally drew his eyes to the curve of her torso, from her breasts to her waist and back to her hips. “Justice isn’t purely objective, because _people_ do it.”

 

“Thus the reason why science is never pure!” If she threw up her hands like she clearly wanted to, she would hit him in the face. “And you’re right--.”

 

“Can I _please_ get that in writing?”

 

“You’re right,” she plowed on, ignoring his aside, “in that justice is never purely objective, but you might notice that judges are in fact capable of putting aside their personal feelings to hand down decisions, for good or for ill.” Her eyes were not meeting his, but they were—goddamn, was she watching his lips too? “Can you say the same thing about science? When picking a scientific field is incredibly personal?”

 

“You can’t take the bad examples of science gone wrong and use it to tar the entire discipline.”

 

“I _wasn’t_. I said that when scientists screw up, they should face legal ramifications!”

 

“And when judges screw up? It takes longer to catch them.”

 

“You are so _impossible_ ,” she exploded, pushing at his chest in an attempt to get him to back off. He stayed still, and her anger reached thermonuclear levels. “How can you argue against the judicial process?”

 

“When that judicial process is founded on principles that don’t even approach justice, merely what is convenient,” he growled. He leaned in just a little, but remembered himself just in time.

 

She scowled at him, and _ugh_ , that _lipstick_. “Science has a long history of being used to justify societal and structural inequality,” she growled right back. “As does the judicial process. That doesn’t mean the judicial process doesn’t have inherent worth, and I was never, _ever_ arguing against science as a discipline!”

 

Who kissed whom next he didn’t quite know, but her lips were suddenly against his and his hand was tangled in her hair at the nape of her neck. Her arms were around his neck, and she was leaning upward, her body plastered against his. He’d fantasized about how her breasts would feel against him when she wasn’t wearing a coat, and he felt a little faint at the reality. Either that or they weren’t kissing properly and he needed air.

 

...Probably the second one.

 

He pulled her away from him to run his lips over her neck, and he felt her pulse jump against the sensitive skin of his lips. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and he pressed his lips harder under her ear. She whimpered, and satisfaction made him harder than he should be.

 

One of his hands snuck up to round the curve of her breast, and she jumped when he squeezed. He had to laugh, and she eyed him. “You’re jumpy,” he mumbled, scraping his teeth against the shell of her ear. Whatever she said disappeared into her moan, her back arching and pushing her chest against his further. “I like that in a girl.”

 

“I’d like more kissing,” she said pointedly. “So I _don’t have to listen to you_.”

 

“That almost sounds like a challenge.”

 

“Shut _up_ , Starscream.” She dragged his head over—wow, she was strong—and leaned up the rest of the distance to press her lips against his. It was gentler than what he’d expected, and he responded in kind by sucking carefully on her lower lip. It was like the kiss in the supply closet, and belatedly he remembered how she had used it to disarm him. He needed to take control again, and he bit her bottom lip.

 

She dragged her nails up his neck, and he moaned unexpectedly. “ _Keep doing that_.”

 

“Say please and I might,” she laughed, and he sucked a little harder on her lower lip before releasing it. She gasped slightly, and it was his turn to chuckle at her. Frustration did _wonders_.

 

“How about _you_ say please?”

 

“Get some original lines.”

 

“Are you _really_ complaining?” He could feel her nipple through her bra, and he tweaked it. She jumped again, but she still had the voice to be snarky.

 

“All t-talk.”

 

“Yeah, no, not talking.” He picked her up easily—try _his_ strength on for size—and pushed her up against the wall. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he went for her neck, and she muffled her moan into her hand as he laved over her pulse.

 

“Hurry _up_ ,” she groaned, reaching a hand down to his pants buckle. She rubbed the heel of her hand against his dick, and his hips bucked into the touch.

 

She clawed his back as he pushed her harder against the wall. “Didn’t think about how strong your legs would be,” he gasped against her neck, lifting one of them higher to bunch her skirt at her waist. Once he was satisfied with the angle, he fumbled with his pants until his dick was free.

 

“Better have a condom,” she panted, arching her neck as he bit at the junction of her neck and shoulder.

 

“I _always_ have a condom.” He reached down for the condom in his back pocket, but then remembered his pants were tangled somewhere around his knees. Cursing mentally, he knelt down slightly to snag the corner of the foil packet and he drew it out to wave it in her face.

 

She stared. “Does that seriously live in your pocket all the time? Even after I—oh Solus.”

 

He rolled his eyes and adjusted his grip on her legs. “I told you, I _always_ carry condoms. You never know when someone’s cool with flashing their boobs.”

 

“That’s _awful_.”

 

“Gonna shut up yet?”

 

“Gonna give me a reason?”

 

He laughed. “I think I just might.” Condom achieved, he held his dick in one hand and moved aside her panties with the other. He angled himself until he thrust into her, and she gasped, her nails marking down his back. He thrust a few times while she buried her face in his neck while her body shook with the tremors, and he tugged her head up with his hold on her hair. “I’ve never heard you this quiet this long,” he told her, kissing under her chin.

 

“Don’t fucking tempt me,” she squeezed her thighs around his waist. “Gonna move, _really_ move, yet?”

 

“Only if you say please,” he teased.

 

She smacked his shoulder. “You are the _worst_.” He pushed her harder against the wall, his hips moving fast. She closed her eyes and groaned when the angle brushed against her clit, but he wanted to wait until she begged.

 

He could feel her clench around him, and stayed focused had never been so hard. Ha. _Hard_.

 

“Damnit, Starscream!”

 

“You’re not saying please.”

 

“You are such an asshole!”

 

“I never claimed to be otherwise.” He hadn’t kissed her since he’d pinned her against the wall and picked up her leg; he changed that immediately. She bit his lip before sucking hard on it, and he groaned into her mouth. “ _God_ , you’re perfect.”

 

He felt her smile instinctively before she tried to quash it. “You’re still an asshole.”

 

“I can finish with you or without you,” he muttered against her ear, “but if you beg, I _might_ be nice and let you come too. Your choice.” He punctuated it with pinching her clit, and she moaned into his ear.

 

It sounded _so_ good.

 

“P-please,” she whispered, closing her eyes. He kissed behind her ear to reward it and flicked his fingers against her clit. “Please! Star-scream.” Her voice broke in the middle of his name, and that was just enough.

 

Still, he had to wait. Even the people who hated him had to admit he was fantastic at sex. He had to bring her with him, and while she was close, she wasn’t as close as he was.

 

And she _did_ beg.

 

“So I’m going to take you to bed,” he informed her. “And we’re not going to leave until I say so. However, if you want to leave before then, just tell me. Or you can let me fuck you until all you can see is stars.”

 

Her breath stuttered in her chest, and her fingers flexed on his skin. “Oh—okay,” she breathed. “Let’s do it.”

 

He played with her clit with the very tips of his fingers. “Come for me, sweetheart. You’re close, and I can promise you _several_ more. Come on.”

 

She did.

  

* * *

  

**THEN:**

**_June & July & August_ **

 

Starscream tapped his fingers. “Ex _cuse_ me, but do you think you could take my order?”

 

The barista glanced at him. “Can you wait a sec? The interns are running and we’re about to hear about the Obgerefell ruling.”

 

“You’ll hear about it regardless and my lab partner is waiting for me to do something very important.”

 

“It can’t wait five minutes?” She raised her eyebrows at him. “It’s not like this is making history or anything.”

 

“ _Ugh_.”

 

“It’s legal! We’re legal!” One of the other baristas jumped up and down and then threw herself at his barista. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

 

“Please don’t. Save it for your girlfriend.”

 

“Awwwww,” the other barista complained.

 

“You could kiss, I’d be okay with that,” Starscream said interestedly. He zeroed in on his barista’s nametag, “Windblade.”

 

“Who’s this guy?” the other barista’s name was Moonracer, apparently.

 

“Starscream, and I want a caramel latte with a double shot, and then I need an iced Americano with whipped cream.”

 

The baristas exchanged looks, before Windblade shrugged. “I’ve got this, go on.”

 

“So was your history worth shitty customer service?” Starscream examined his fingers. “I could talk to your manager.”

 

“Why are you such--,” Windblade cut herself off. “Right, double-shot caramel latte and iced Americano, coming right up. That’ll be 8.70.”

 

Starscream handed over a ten dollar bell impatiently. “It’s Starscream. S-T-A-R-S-C-R-E-A-M. Most people misspell it.”

 

“Can’t imagine why,” Windblade said flatly. “Your change is 1.30.”

 

“Great.”

 

Starscream checked his phone—Skyfire hadn’t texted him yet to ask where the coffees were; the nerd was probably watching the news like everyone else—and he wasn’t really listening until Moonracer yelled, “Screamer!”

 

He looked up. “Um. What?”

 

There was a sound like an aborted snort from the direction of the knot of baristas near the TV, but he ignored it. “No, seriously! That’s not my name!”

 

Moonracer checked the cup, and then said boredly, “Caramel latte with a double shot. Screamer. It’s yours.”

 

Starscream glared at her. “That’s not my name.”

 

“You weren’t gonna tip anyway, so...I’d take your coffee before it gets too cold.”

 

Windblade waggled her fingers at him as he left, and he grumbled all the way back to the lab. “Skyfire! You would not _believe_ what happened at the coffeeshop.”

 

“We’re legal!” Skyfire whooped, scooping him up in his arms and planting a large kiss on his lips. “Star, we’re legal, we’re _legal!_ ”

 

“Dude, don’t spill the coffee.”

 

Skyfire rolled his eyes and let him down, and once Starscream had the coffees safely on an empty countertop, Skyfire scooped him up and kissed him again, and this time Starscream kissed him back, albeit begrudgingly. Skyfire put him down and then went after the coffee. “So what happened at the coffeeshop?”

 

“They messed up my name! To _Screamer!”_

 

“That’s a new one,” Skyfire said absently, sipping from his iced coffee. “I personally thought ‘Jerk of the Week’ was inspired, but then again, you did call that one barista a bitch so.”

 

“She had it coming!”

 

“Face it, Star, you’re a jackass to anyone in service _and_ you don’t tip. The fact that there were no expletives is proof of that barista’s limitless patience.” Skyfire looked up from his notes. “Are you gonna help me or not?”

 

“Help,” Starscream sighed.

 

“This is also, incidentally, why you never get the second date,” Skyfire said, looking over the rims of his glasses. “No one wants to date the person who’s a jerk to the waiter.”

 

“They always have sex with me, though.”

 

“Sex isn’t everything.”

 

“Says the person in an _internet relationship._ ”

 

Skyfire cleared his throat delicately. “Is there a criticism there?”

 

“—Nope. Not at all.”

 

“Good. Now, I was looking at how these stars measured out, and I’m thinking that something messed with our projections, because the math isn’t right.”

 

“Ohh-kay. Yeah, let’s run those again.”

 

\--

 

 Chromia watched Windblade stumble through the kitchen with familiar amusement. She needed her tea whenever she came home, the good kind with strong floral undertones to the white tea, with one heaping teaspoon of honey (Chromia Knew Someone and got her various kinds of honey; this one was a rose honey and complemented the floral tea well), with two pieces of lightly buttered toast.

 

Chromia felt it wasn’t enough food for her to eat after working so hard for so many hours, but Windblade had finally admitted that if she ate too much after working, she felt nauseous, so tea and toast it was.

 

Finally, Windblade had everything she needed and she came over to Chromia’s side and flopped down, her head in Chromia’s lap. Chromia painstakingly removed the clips and pins that kept Windblade’s thick black hair under control until it was free, and she combed her fingers through it while Windblade nibbled at her toast. “How awful was it tonight?” Chromia asked quietly.

 

“Not too bad,” Windblade yawned, blinking up at her friend. “We got a kid who threw pasta, but I shut that down quickly and the parents even tipped me more as an apology. My shoulders hurt, but that’s an always kind of thing.”

 

Chromia pressed her lips together, but said nothing. Windblade would take offense if Chromia said anything negative about her job, so she’d learned to hold her tongue. “And the coffeeshop?”

 

“Some asshole refused to accept the important of the SCOTUS ruling today, but my manager hates him too so I didn’t get in trouble for writing his name as Screamer.”

 

“Good. What time do you have work tomorrow?”

 

“Same time,” Windblade placed a hand over her mouth as another yawn threatened to split her jaw. “Should go to bed.”

 

“Finish your tea and then you can,” Chromia said stiffly. She didn’t fully approve of Windblade working a 4 to 6 hour shift from early morning to early afternoon, and then a 5-hour shift from evening to late night, but Windblade refused to be deterred. She needed the money.

 

“The ruling today was great though,” Windblade murmured, propping herself upright to drink her tea. Chromia continued to stroke her hair, and she gave Chromia a wan smile. “When the movie is inevitably made, we’ll get to be the crotchety old people about it. ‘ _That’s not how it happened_ ’ and all of that.”

 

“Are you looking forward to being a crotchety old person?”

 

“A little,” Windblade admitted. “Doc Hatchet's the soul of crotchetiness, and well, if I can attain half of his crotchetiness then I think it’s a life well spent.”

 

Chromia snorted. “You’re a little loopy with the tired. Is your tea done?”

 

Windblade looked down blearily. “Yes.”

 

“To bed,” Chromia nudged, taking the empty cup and plate to the kitchen. Windblade toddled off in the direction of the bathroom to wash her face and teeth, and Chromia was already turning down the covers once Windblade was done. Windblade was one of the weird people who made their bed everyday.

 

Windblade rolled her eyes at her and slipped between the covers. “You didn’t need to stay up, you know,” she whispered, rolling into a ball.

 

“I’ve got a midnight to 8 shift,” Chromia said. “I was gonna be up anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Night, Chromia,” Windblade yawned, face-planting into the pillow.

 

“Night, Windblade.”

 

\--

 

“Do you every think about how much you hate people, because I do,” Thundercracker said, almost glumly. His dog constantly needed to be walked, and Starscream flatly refused to walk that creature. Too many nights had that damn beastie woken him up by biting him in specific locations; like hell would he do anything for it.

 

“Ugh, _all the time_. It’s not super hard to make coffee!”

 

“Says the dude who burns fucking water. Oh my god, Screamer, if you can’t heat up water, you don’t get to fucking complain about people who make your coffee.”

 

Starscream scowled at Skywarp. “Who forgets to take out the trash?”

 

Thundercracker clicked to Buster. “C’mon girl, they’ll get in a slap fight and then join us.”

 

“Oi, Thundercracker, where the hell do you— _oh my god that’s the barista_.”

 

They all stopped to stare at Starscream, who was gazing rather transfixedly through the window of the local Italian restaurant. It was the restaurant of choice for visiting parents and the various Greek chapters, a little too expensive for the average college student’s budget.

 

Skywarp leaned against Starscream’s shoulder and Thundercracker nudged Buster to join them. Sure enough, a pretty East Asian girl was smiling at a family—one of his Engineering professors, Thundercracker remembered—and writing down an order.

 

Skywarp spoke first. “She’s kinda hot.”

 

“Skywarp!”

 

“What?! She totally is. And I know that she’s dressed pretty conservatively, but red is _totally_ her color and I bet her hair is long enough to cover her boobs and--.”

 

Thundercracker quite firmly smacked Skywarp on the back of his head. “And that’s enough,” he said severely.

 

Skywarp grumbled at him while rubbing the back of his head. “You didn’t need to _hit_ me, c’mon Screamer, back me—oh no. I know that look.”

 

Starscream turned to look at the pair of them with a malicious grin.

 

“No,” Thundercracker said automatically.

 

“I didn’t even ask you anything.”

 

“No, but you’re gonna, and I want no part in this.” Thundercracker pinched the bridge of his nose as Starscream turned to Skywarp.

 

“Skywarp, I’ll pay for your dinner.”

 

“I’m totally in.”

 

“Skywarp!”

 

“What? It’s free food.”

 

“Let’s go, Buster,” Thundercracker told his dog. “I don’t want to be implicated when this goes south.”

 

“Loser!” Starscream called after him, and then turned to Skywarp. “I want you to find out what section is hers.”

 

“Got it, gimme the cash,” Skywarp gestured, and Starscream put some cash in his hand.

 

“I mean it, find it.”

 

“On it, boss,” Skywarp saluted. “Oh, do I get to flirt with her?”

 

“Dude.”

 

“Hey, she’s hot! And a girl who wears lipstick _that_ red has got to be okay with getting hit on at work.”

 

“Oh please.”

 

“Is that a yes?” Skywarp looked hopefully at him.

 

“Whatever, dumbass, just find out what section she works.”

 

“Yes _sir_.”

 

Starscream ambled off to catch up with Thundercracker, who was waiting for Buster to finish. “Don’t tell me.”

 

“I wasn’t going to.”

 

“I mean it, don’t. You’re going to make that poor girl’s life hell because she didn’t pay attention to you.”

 

“Well, now I don’t _have_ to tell you.”

 

“Has anyone ever told you your need for attention is pathological?” Thundercracker muttered.

 

“Skyfire, yesterday, Megatron, the day before that, you, three days ago, Skywarp--.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Look, I won’t be _that_ big of an asshole. Just a bit.”

 

“Yeah, but for you, a ‘little bit’ is someone else’s ‘prick.’”

 

“Fine, I won’t hassle her more than...three times.”

 

“None.”

 

“Twice?” Starscream rose his eyebrows.

 

“ _None_.”

 

“Fine, once, okay?”

 

Thundercracker sighed and growled. It was Starscream’s personal hypothesis that Buster had taught Thundercracker that sound. “Did someone like, kick you as an infant or something? Is that why you’re always such a jackass?”

 

“Not always.”

 

“But then you use the occasional time you’re actually mostly cool to justify the jackass the rest of the time. Are you even expecting to have a job once you graduate?”

 

Starscream hunched his shoulders. “Ouch, TC.”

 

“Get over it,” Thundercracker said with absolutely no sympathy. “And when she decks you, don’t ask me to patch up your lip.”

 

“Nah, Skyfire’ll do it.”

 

“Until he finds out why you got decked in the first place, and then he’ll pull the ‘Skyfire: Made of Disappoint’ that cows you so well.”

 

“What, you haven’t learned it yet?”

 

“I keep trying.”

 

They glared at each other before Buster daintily sat between them and barked once. Thundercracker broke eye contact to glance down at the mutt, and then he rolled his eyes. “When you want to fuck her,” Thundercracker said, “I don’t want to hear about it.”

 

“Ugh, no, I don’t want to _fuck_ her, I want to mess with her.”

 

“And if she even remotely challenges you, your dick sits up and takes notice. If she actually refuses you, she’ll practically have you on a leash. So I’m telling you, _in advance_ , I don’t want to hear about it.”

 

Starscream rolled his eyes. “You have literally nothing to worry about. She’s not my type.”

 

“Everyone’s your type. You’d’ve fucked me and Skywarp _long_ ago if we didn’t live together.”

 

“I’m not a slut,” he protested.

 

“Might as well be, except that you don’t suck dick.”

 

“Well, I--.”

 

“Skyfire doesn’t count,” Thundercracker cut across. “That’s like, the cost of dealing with you on a daily basis.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“True, though.”

 

“You make me sound like I’m constantly cruising,” Starscream grumbled as they turned to head back to campus.

 

“Oh really, you aren’t?”

 

“No, actually!”

 

“How many people have you fucked this week? Loudly? In the room right next to mine? Against the wall that my bed borders?”

 

Starscream thought about it. “Only...two people.”

 

“It’s **_TUESDAY!_** ”

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

 

“Starscream, I’m saying this as both your friend and your roommate,” Thundercracker solemnly, “but you need to stop.”

 

“None of them are worth keeping.”

 

“So you mean no one’s worth stopping for?” Thundercracker nudged Buster, who was refusing to move.

 

“Pretty much. When Skyfire and me were together--.”

 

“Those sweet, ephemeral days,” Thundercracker bemoaned.

 

“I didn’t go cruising.”

 

“Yeah, but when he dumped you, you disappeared into The Dark Place of orgies and booze, and it took me and Skywarp two weeks to find you and clean you out.”

 

“Those were some great times,” Starscream mused.

 

“ _No_ they were _not_.”

 

“But see, that’s why I haven’t bothered to find anyone worth keeping. The low isn’t worth it.”

 

“You’re gonna end up diseased,” Thundercracker said flatly.

 

“I get tested every three months and I use a condom every time, no matter what we’re doing.”

 

“Except for Skyfire.”

 

“I don’t think you wanna hear about when I don’t.”

 

“Yeah, that information I can skip.”

 

“I’m gonna mess with her _only_. I’ll stop when it gets too far.”

 

“Yes, but—Star, you don’t have a _concept_ of too far.”

 

“If she starts crying?” Starscream offered. “That’s usually a sign of ‘too far,’ right?”

 

Thundercracker opened his mouth, but then reconsidered. “Exactly. That’s exactly the sign of ‘too far.’”

 

Starscream smirked. “Thanks. I’ll keep you posted.”

 

“Oh _excellent_.”

 

\--

 

“New customer table 6.”

 

“Thanks,” Windblade said absently, glancing over in her section. Table 6 was absolutely the worst table in the house—it was tucked into the corner, out of the light, and could only seat two people. Windblade—and by extension, Blurr, Firestar, and Tankor #1—usually ran bets on how long a couple would last if they were at Table 6.

 

They tried hard not to place anyone there unless the place was packed. The Curse of Table 6 usually extended to no tip as well, and the table was usually shared between her, Firestar, and Lightbright, and it was her turn to staff it that month.

 

She’d gotten away with no one at Table 6 for six solid nights. She supposed it was time for that luck to break, but hopefully it wouldn’t too awful. She pasted a smile onto her face and made sure her eyes crinkled just right. “Hi, welcome to Thunderclash’s. I’m your server, Windblade, what would you like to drink tonight?”

 

The customer put down his menu slowly, like he was attempting to be dramatic. “What do you have?” he asked menacingly.

 

She tilted her head and tried to keep the puzzled frown off her face. “Well, we have plenty of alcoholic and nonalcoholic beverages. I can personally recommend--.”

 

“I don’t care. Do you have bourbon?”

 

“No, I’m afraid not.” Looked like a no-tip night. “But we do have plenty of martinis and house brews.”

 

“Do I _look_ like a martini person?”

 

Danger, danger. She swallowed and brightened her smile by two watts. “I think you might vary your interests depending on your mood,” she offered, and he relaxed slightly. Potential salvage ahead, Captain. “Would you like some time to decide?”

 

“I will take a gin and tonic, but no flowery stuff. I’m not a _girl_.”

 

She had noticed, she longed to hurl at him, but she kept her smile on. “I’ll be right back with that.”

 

Firestar saw her face and moved away from the bar. “Oh Solus, Windblade, who set your feathers on fire?”

 

“Table 6,” she bit out.

 

Blurr and Firestar winced. “What does he want?” Blurr asked, already reaching for the cocktail shaker.

 

“Gin and tonic.” She rubbed her temples. “I need to check on my other tables, I’ll be back in a minute or two.”

 

Firestar squeezed her arm and left to manage her own, and Windblade breathed in deeply. _Relax, he’s just an asshole. He is_ just _an asshole._

 

She re-entered the dining room to check on Table 9—two children and three parents, they were the scandal of the English department—and after she’d finished, she heard snapped fingers and she turned around to see Table 6 _snapping_ at her.

 

Correction: he was an asshole who didn’t recognize people who worked in service as people. _Right_. She marched over to his table and asked sweetly, “What seems to be the problem, sir?”

 

“I’ve changed my mind. I’d like a vodka and tonic.”

 

“Yes, sir, right away.”

 

“And make sure there’s plenty of ice.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

He leaned back and gestured at her. “Well, away.”

 

She turned on her heel and stalked back to the bar, where Blurr was finishing up. “Hey, I’ve got it--.”

 

“He now wants a vodka and tonic instead, with plenty of ice,” she said, clipped.

 

Blurr looked down at the full glass and then at her. “You want it?”

 

“God, do I _ever_ , but I’ve still got two hours on my shift.”

 

“Chin up,” Blurr advised with a grin.

 

“Thanks, you’re always _so_ helpful.”

 

Blurr grinned. “Gimme a little longer, and I’ll have the vodka and tonic. Table 5’s up in the kitchen—hopefully he won’t change his mind again.”

 

“Thanks for telling me.”

 

She managed to get Table 5’s entrees and Table 6’s vodka and tonic without incident. The next problem happened when she took his order. “So you’d like the calamari appetizer, and then the eggplant parmesan?”

 

“I would like the eggplant seared, not roasted,” the customer said flatly.

 

She made a note of it. “All...right.”

 

“And I would like the pasta cooked past al dente.”

 

“Of course.” She made the necessary notations and then she brightened her smile. “Is there anything else?”

 

He raised an eyebrow. “ _Should_ there be anything else?”

 

God, she hated customers like that. “Just—dietary considerations or allergies, the like,” she said smoothly.

 

“No, nothing.”

 

“I will go put that order in and I should have the appetizer ready for you shortly.” She was still guarded. Customers who were assholes at the beginning of the night did not change their ways; they usually got worse, _especially_ if alcohol was involved.

 

He pulled out his phone and she retreated to the kitchen.

 

She had a blessed few minutes of respite while she managed her other tables, but finally his appetizers were ready, and she brought it out with a sense of incoming doom. Her instincts did not fail her, for as she placed the plate in front of him, he glanced at the food and then glared up at her. “That isn’t what I asked for.”

 

“You asked for the calamari, sir,” she said. She had to be careful in how she couched her voice—too sharp and he would start yelling; too soft and he would steamroll over her. “This is how it is served—breaded and fried.”

 

“These are clearly clams,” he retorted.

 

She looked down at the plate and back to him. “I—sir, clams are far stringier in look and texture.”

 

“Send it back, I won’t have it.” He crossed his arms and glared at her. “And don’t think I’ll be paying for them, either.”

 

She locked away the words and picked up the plate again. “Yes sir,” she said, and returned to the kitchen.

 

“What the hell is wrong with my calamari?” Heatwave asked calmly.

 

“He thinks they’re clams.”

 

“Oh for—I will _show_ him they are not clams.” Heatwave tossed a towel over his shoulder, but Windblade shook her head.

 

“He’s not worth it.”

 

“If he sends back any more of my food, I will toss him out on his ass,” Heatwave threatened.

 

Hound grinned from his corner. “He’s been watching too many _Kitchen Nightmares_ episodes.”

 

“No self-respecting chef would watch that garbage!” Heatwave howled. “Who doesn’t know basic kitchen maintenance?”

 

Hound winked at her, and she managed a slightly wavering smile in return. Then Table 9 had their soup ready, and she was able to forestall returning to Table 6 for a while.

 

Then his eggplant parmesan was ready, and she squared her shoulders while carrying it out. She didn’t quite want to hover after she’d placed the plate down, but she didn’t want to be whistled down, either.

 

He took one bite of the eggplant and spat it out, and Windblade despaired. “This eggplant is _grilled_ , not _seared_.”

 

“Sir, I can assure you that the chef paid attention to your directions--.”

 

“Then you must have written down the wrong thing!” That shout made the dining room go quiet, and Windblade wanted to die. Firestar saw the mess and was en route to engage, and her customer continued spitefully, this time more quietly, “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

 

“I—excuse me?”

 

Then Firestar was there, and she looked down at him. “Sir, is there a problem?”

 

“My eggplant is grilled, and I specifically requested seared. What kind of restaurant is this?” The customer swelled with indignation, and Windblade wished she could rub her temples. Yelling was coming, she could feel it.

 

“Windblade, does Heatwave still have the ticket?”

 

“He should.”

 

“Allow me to check,” Firestar said warmly, her public relations smile firmly on. “If you’ll excuse us.”

 

“Firestar, there is no possible way I screwed up his order,” Windblade said softly once they were out of earshot.

 

“I know, but we at least need the appearance of covering our ass. Heatwave, you still have Table 6’s ticket?”

 

“If that asshole dares to insult my food--.”

 

“He says you grilled his eggplant instead of searing it.”

 

“We have _no grill_! We don’t do that here!” Heatwave retrieved the ticket and stomped out, Firestar and Windblade following closely behind. Windblade enjoyed a sharp twist of vindictive pleasure when her customer’s eyes widened at the sight of Heatwave, 6’5 and heavily muscled to boot, bearing down on him with a scowl that would make Satan feel faint. “Windblade is always conscientious,” Heatwave told her customer in a growl. “Always. She made a note that your eggplant must be seared and that you want limp pasta, which is what pasta cooked past al dente _is_. Now, do you have a problem with my food?”

 

“No,” her customer squeaked.

 

“Good,” Heatwave spat. He stalked back to the kitchen, and Firestar nudged Windblade.

 

“I can take care of this one,” Firestar told Windblade in an undertone, but apparently the customer overheard.

 

“No,” he said crisply. “I will have—Windblade, was it?—as my server. Mistakes aside,” he looked down his nose at them, “she’s kept my glass filled, which is all I can expect from this establishment.”

 

Firestar’s smile took on an angle, but Windblade wrapped her hand around Firestar’s elbow. “Yes, sir,” she said smoothly, hating the words coming out of her mouth. “In fact, I’ll go fetch you a new vodka and tonic.”

 

Firestar found her voice again. “On the house,” she gritted out, “for your consideration.”

 

The customer sat back with satisfaction, and they both made their escape. “I’m gonna kill him and dismember him and give him to Heatwave to cook into sauce,” Firestar seethed.

 

“As wonderful as that sounds, we don’t want to get closed down for failing health checks,” Windblade soothed. That was the vaguely annoying thing about Firestar—it was always about _her_ feelings _._ Windblade had been dealing with this customer for the better part of an hour, but no, Firestar’s display of temper must be soothed first.

 

“Ugh, I suppose you’re right. I’ll go tell Blurr, you get some water.”

 

Windblade saluted her before turning to the breakroom, where they kept their water dispenser. She flexed her hands a few times before she filled up a paper cup; the impotent anger of these interactions was the worst part, she thought idly. It shook you down to your bones and choked you with all the words you couldn’t afford to say.

 

Worst thing? He wasn’t even the worst customer she’d ever had to deal with. She’d had red wine thrown on her—though that customer was escorted from the premises, it couldn’t save the white shirt it had stained—and another customer had once jerked their chair back _just_ as she was coming by with a full tray. An entire tray of eight separate pasta dishes had crashed to the floor and her with it. Another shirt ruined, _and_ she’d required seven stitches.

 

As long as she left the interaction intact, it was better than the alternative.

 

Blurr signaled her to let her know that her vodka and tonic was ready, and as she brought it to Table 6, he gripped her wrist as she let it down. “You really don’t recognize me.”

 

“Sir, let me go, or I will call my manager over,” she said firmly.

 

He released her, but he was tall, even sitting down, and he caught and held her gaze. “You really don’t.”

 

She wanted to sigh and roll her eyes. “Sir, with all due respect, I work in two separate locations that sees a _lot_ of people. I don’t remember most people unless they’re regulars.”

 

“You wrote my name as ‘Screamer,’” he bit out. “Remember _that_?”

 

She considered it. “No,” she said. “I really don’t. If there’s anything else--.”

 

“The check. As soon as possible.”

 

She rooted in her apron and came up with it, and she let it rest by his hand while she escaped. She checked her phone—the restaurant was closing in thirty minutes, and she could go home in fifty. _Oh thank goodness._

 

The next time she checked, she saw that he’d left exact change and—nope, no tip, just like she thought. He’d signed his name— _Starscream_ —but that was it.

 

Starscream, Starscream—she rolled the name around in her head all the way through finishing out the transaction and getting through her part of closing procedures. It sounded familiar, or at least, that it _should_ sound familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

 

She sat down heavily on one of Blurr’s barstools after clocking out. “I know you’ve got inventory tomorrow, so if you wanted to get rid of the dregs of anything, I will literally drink turpentine right now,” she told the counter.

 

“That awful.”

 

She propped up her chin to stare up at him. “Yes.”

 

“I’ve got probably about 3 shots worth of tequila,” he offered.

 

She gestured for them, and he caught her wrist. It was the same wrist Starscream had grabbed, and she shivered a little at the memory of it. That he hadn’t hesitated to put his hands on her—she hadn’t felt fear at that moment, but she felt it now. “I’m gonna call Chromia first,” Blurr said seriously. “I don’t want you biking home when you’re three sheets to the wind.” He let her go and she waved acquiescence.

 

She heard the mumble of Blurr talking to Chromia over the phone, and then three shot glasses were placed in front of her in short order. With absolutely no ceremony, she downed them, and unlike the _last_ time she had tequila—again, on Blurr’s recommendation—she managed not to cough.

 

The alcohol hit her system straight away, and her lips trembled as the frustration, slight fear, and the sense of sickness took their toll. “I fucking hate this job,” she whispered to Blurr. She didn’t want Firestar to overhear. “The pay’s shit and people are awful.”

 

He squeezed her hand. “I know, sweetheart.”

 

She rested her cheek on the cool mosaic tile. “You have a bad night too?”

 

“Nah, but it’s almost the weekend.”

 

She closed her eyes and nearly whimpered.

 

She kept her eyes closed as she heard Blurr clean up the bar around her. She lifted her head when he told her to, and she put it back down when he said she could. She could feel tears burning in her throat—angry, upset tears, not sad tears, but she still didn’t want to give into them. At least, not at work.

 

“Blurr?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Does the name Starscream sound familiar?”

 

“ _Ugh_ , that was your customer? He’s this ‘rising star’ in the political science department, he’s one of Knockout’s ‘friends.’”

 

“I hear the air-quotes.”

 

“He and Knockout pretty much get together to get drunk. But yeah, he’s a poli-sci and astrophysics double major.”

 

“Likes a challenge.”

 

“Yep. Anyway, he is _such_ an asshole. He and his lab partner tend to work together all summer—Skyfire’s decent, so none of us can figure out why he keeps ol’ Screamer around.”

 

She shot up. “He came to the coffeeshop! He was an ass, so I wrote down Screamer on his coffee cup!”

 

Blurr laughed. “Oh my god, _that’s_ the origin of his nickname? I heard about it from Knockout, who heard about it from Skywarp—it apparently sent him into a right tizzy.”

 

She slumped. “That’s why he came in tonight,” she mumbled, scrubbing at her eyes. “He wanted to get me back. Well he did, with interest.”

 

“’Sup, Blurr. Windblade, you ready to go?”

 

“Yes,” she said, attempting to slide to her feet. Unfortunately, tequila consumption and fine motor skills did not mix, and Chromia caught her as she started to fall. “ _Ugh_ , walking is something anyone can do.”

 

Blurr stifled a laugh at Chromia’s face. “I’ll se you tomorrow,” he told Windblade.

 

She waved at him over Chromia’s shoulder, and then she tucked her cheek against the solidity of that shoulder. “It was awful tonight, Chromia,” she murmured. She closed her eyes, but the tears were burning in her throat even more. “Just _awful_.”

 

“I know, sweetheart.” Chromia’s arms were strong around her. “We’ll get you home and into bed and it’ll be fine.”

 

“Some _asshole_ decided to make my life hell,” and that was when the tears came up. Chromia made soothing noises as Windblade started to hiccup, her makeup trailing down her face. “I h-hate this.”

 

“I’ve got you,” Chromia said firmly, tucking her more carefully against her shoulder while her free hand fumbled for the car door. She got it open and deposited Windblade on the seat, clicking the seatbelt home. “Let it out.”

 

She had time for one heartwrenching sob before the door closed, and away, toward the parking lot and its’ artfully arranged copse of trees meant to disguise the simple reality of a parking lot, Skywarp turned to Starscream and unceremoniously punched him in the arm. “Dude. You are _such an asshole_.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnnd we have the greater cast! If you want to know some scary retail stories, I have literally all of them. 
> 
> Face claims: [ Optimus](http://www2.pictures.zimbio.com/gi/Norm+Lewis+66th+Annual+Tony+Awards+Arrivals+wrgoQANHJPkl.jpg), [Megatron](http://www.thecouchsessions.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/idriselba.jpg), and [Ultra Magnus](http://www.eviltwinltd.com/Monk/reviews/graphics/grouptherapy/grouptherapy5.jpg). This one is [Prowl](http://www.cinemablend.com/images/news_img/41432/jesse_eisenberg_41432.jpg), though he's not that necessary to the story. 
> 
> MTMTE!Megatron reminds me a lot of a professor I had for International Law and Globalized Social Movements, so that's where a lot of his characterization comes from. Basically angry!old!politics!professor!Megatron is _everything_ to me.
> 
> Menstruation content warning, though it's mentioned in passing.

**PART TWO**

**Then:**

**_August & September_ **

Starscream woke up by Skyfire waving a cup of coffee over his nose. He was already reaching for the mug before his brain fully woke up, and he blinked at Skyfire over the rim. “What--?”

 

“I think it’s time you finally told me why exactly you showed up three days ago and said you needed a place to stay in the interim,” Skyfire said, sitting on the edge of the couch. His eyebrows were knotted, and had Starscream been in a better mood, he might have said something like ‘ _You’re going to wrinkle early if you keep frowning like that.’_

 

Instead, he grunted as he took a sip of coffee. At some point, Skyfire had learned the proper way to brew coffee—Starscream had nothing to do with it—and now he vowed by his percolator in a way he swore by nothing else. Starscream, he’d been informed, was boring, as he only drank black coffee except when he needed a sugar rush. “My roommates--.”

 

“You somehow pissed them off enough for them to kick you out for the moment,” Skyfire said, bored. “What did you do?”

 

Starscream glanced down. “Nothing too bad.”

 

“Thundercracker’s used to your various...idiosyncrasies,” Skyfire used the word ‘idiosyncrasies’ the way other people would use ‘asshole tendencies.’ “So you must have badly offended them. What happened?”

 

Starscream hunched his shoulders. “TC’s making a big deal over nothing.” Skyfire waiting, drumming his fingers once on the edge of the couch, and that meant he was close to losing his patience. Skyfire had only done that twice in their entire relationship, and both times Starscream had been surprised at just how loud Skyfire’s voice could go. “Remember that barista I told you about? The one who called me Screamer?”

 

“Yes....”

 

“I found out she worked at Thunderclash’s, and I thought I’d get her back.”

 

“Starscream.”

 

“What? She was a bitch at the coffeeshop, okay?! Anyway, they put me at the worst table in the place, and then I just...kept sending things back.”

 

“ _Please_ tell me you tipped, at least. Even if it was only, like, a dollar.” When Starscream remained silent, Skyfire’s hands clenched on the sofa. “Of course you didn’t. Get dressed.”

 

“Where—where are we going?”

 

“Target,” Skyfire said shortly. “Where you’re going to buy a $50 giftcard.”

 

“What am I gonna do with _that_?”

 

“You are going to give me your phone and I am going to call Thundercracker.”

 

Starscream was already unplugging his iPhone and handing it to Skyfire. Skyfire didn’t even need to ask the code, and once Skyfire found Thundercracker’s number, he dialed it and said, “Thundercracker, it’s Skyfire, not—yes. I need your help. You work in Administration, do you think you could get an address for me? Yes, it’s about this mess.” Skyfire covered the speaker with his hand and said, “What’s her name?”

 

“Windblade,” Starscream grumbled.

 

“Her first name is Windblade. No clue what her last name is. Can you text it to me once you get it? Thanks.” Skyfire handed back his phone, and there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Get dressed. You have some reparations to make.”

 

Without arguing, Starscream got up. Within ten minutes, they were sitting in Skyfire’s car—a much battered, much beloved, Honda Avalanche—and headed to Target. “That’s our Target,” Starscream said after they passed the local one.

 

“That’s not where we’re going,” Skyfire said.

 

“But you said--.”

 

“I said Target. Not which one.”

 

Starscream subsided against the seat. Skyfire was using his ‘angry’ voice, which meant that he was biting off his words and his shoulders were set. Worse, that glint in his eyes wasn’t going away. Starscream was almost afraid to ask.

 

Almost. Skyfire didn’t scare him. At least, not much.

 

They drove past two more Targets and a Walmart before Skyfire had found which one he was looking for, and once they were parked, Skyfire held out his hand. “You’re going to give me some of that cash that I know you always carry, and I will go purchase a giftcard. There’s a flower shop here, and _you_ are going to go buy a bouquet of flowers. Thundercracker’s already sent me her address, but you don’t get to see it.”

 

“Why am I buying her flowers?”

 

“To apologize.”

 

“But I’m not--.”

 

“ _Starscream_.” Skyfire loomed over him, at least, as much as a person could loom from being sitting next the person being loomed over. “Do what I told you.”

 

“Okay.” He cleared his throat. “What kind of flowers do I get?”

 

“Anything but roses. Get her something that looks nice.” Skyfire gestured, and Starscream pulled out his wallet. He tucked a few bills in Skyfire’s hand, and then he left the small car to wander over to the florist.

 

He immediately sneezed. He had an _incredibly_ mild pollen allergy, usually only aggravated in late spring or apparently in floral shops. However, it was such a mild allergy that he just needed to take a Benadryl and be fine.

 

“Here you are,” a cheerful voice from his elbow said. He blinked at the woman—she looked vaguely familiar. “You’re not the first to need a tissue.”

 

He took it and muttered, “Thanks.” He blew his nose into the tissue and looked around the place. Multiple colors of various flowers were placed in a dizzying pattern around him, and he wondered how the florist kept track of it all.

 

The florist beamed at him. “How can I help you?”

 

“I need to apologize to someone,” he grunted.

 

“Your girlfriend?”

 

“ _God forbid_. No, she’s not my girlfriend, and how do you know she’s a girl?”

 

“Men don’t send flowers to other men to apologize,” the woman said knowingly.

 

“...ah.” He cleared his throat and sneezed into the tissue again. _Ugh_. “What do you recommend?”

 

“Do you care about flower meanings?”

 

“Not at all.”

 

“Then roses.”

 

“I have a friend who said not to go with roses,” he said warily.

 

“Roses are universally understood,” the woman informed him. “It’s red and pink roses that are romantic. White roses will be the best choice.”

 

Breathing carefully, he waved his wallet at her. “A dozen of those, then.”

 

“Do you want to include a note?”

 

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

 

“A vase?”

 

“Why the hell not.”

 

The woman whistled to herself as she packaged up the roses, and Starscream stared down at the blank enclosure card. What the hell was he supposed to say? ‘Sorry?’ He _was_ sorry for making her cry, but honestly, she worked in service, wasn’t she used to that kind of behavior by now?

 

Maybe he could have chosen a better way to get back at her—maybe in a way she could have held her own, he admitted grudgingly. She couldn’t really argue with him there—not if she wanted to keep her job. That wasn’t fair; he should have given her the opportunity to fight back.

 

That was something he could write, and he got to work.

 

Skyfire came up to him about halfway through. Starscream was dimly aware of his presence at his shoulder, but he ignored him as he finished. “Well?”

 

“Maybe you could actually say ‘ _I’m sorry for treating you like shit,’_ ” Skyfire said. “Instead of ‘ _I’m sorry that I chose a place where you couldn’t argue with me.’_ ” He took the enclosure card and tossed into the garbage. “Ma’am, may I have another one?”

 

The woman giggled. “Of course!”

 

Skyfire scribbled something and then he pushed the card at Starscream. “Sign it, and then we’ll send it.”

 

“Skyfire! This says ‘ _My apologies for treating you like shit._ ’”

 

“You did,” Skyfire said, that dangerous glint back in his eyes. “Sign the damn card.”

 

Starscream signed the card, and then Skyfire turned to the woman and gave her the address. She tucked the card and the giftcard into the package, and promised, “This will go out before the end of business today!”

 

Skyfire beamed at her. “Thanks! C’mon, Screamer, before you make more of a scene.”

 

“Sky _fire_ \--!”

 

Once they were back in the car, Skyfire flexed his hands on the steering wall but didn’t turn the engine over. “You know I worked retail, right?”

 

“Yeah, you’ve said.”

 

Skyfire looked at him, and Starscream found he suddenly preferred the dangerous look to the utterly heartbroken look Skyfire was giving him then. “I worked retail for three years, and we got in all manner of unpleasantness. The entitlement is just—either way, I had to run each nasty interaction as a customer trying to get something from me that they couldn’t get any other way. It was about power—they were perfectly aware that I couldn’t feasibly defend myself or the company, especially when the company was more concerned about losing patronage than protecting their workers.”

 

“So...?”

 

“She’s likely had enough nasty experiences not to pick up that you were trying to mess with her. And even if she didn’t, she had no way to know that you were attempting to tease her—in as nastily a way as possible. She had to navigate that interaction as that you were someone who wanted what he could get for free or reduced at her expense. Star, this is why I broke it off. I’m used to you being an asshole, that’s one thing. Deliberately making someone in service have a nasty shift is a whole new level of...it’s despicable, and it’s _evil_.”

 

Starscream slunk down in his seat. “I didn’t know,” he mumbled.

 

“She probably won’t forgive you,” Skyfire said, finally turning on the truck. “And I won’t blame her. The best thing you can do is to stay out of her way. You owe her that much.”

 

\--

 

“How’s the open road holding up for you?” Windblade asked, smiling slightly at the sight of Nautica bundled up in a parka. “ _Please_ don’t die on the trail to Santiago de Compostela.”

 

“Oh, Windy, you worry too much,” Nautica giggled. “And I’m having a lovely time, thank you. This hostel has free WiFi!”

 

Fondness swelled in Windblade’s chest. “Any funny stories from the road?”

 

“Rodimus is incapable of walking in a straight line,” Nautica supplied immediately. “He would have fallen off a mountain yesterday if Perceptor hadn’t hauled him upright.”

 

Windblade held in a snort. The hiking crew that Rodimus had gathered had come from three of the local colleges and universities; Windblade hadn’t met any of them. Her only knowledge came from Nautica’s stories, and she wondered if she’d be able to place them with that alone once Nautica came home. “And, um—who’s the one you’ve mostly been walking with?”

 

“Stormy! Oh, he’s good. Stares a little too much at Perceptor, who ignores him, but he’s okay. None of us are eating fish, but I swear to you, Drift looks like he’s this close to jumping off the deep end.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“He’s got anemia or something? And we haven’t been able to get the right supplies to keep his hemoglobin levels up. Perceptor’s pretty sure that if we can’t find iron supplements soon, Drift’s gonna have to head home, and he really wants to see this through to the end.”

 

“How did he lose his iron supplements in the first place?”

 

“Rodimus,” Nautica sighed. “He was trying to help open the bottle, but his foot slipped and the small bottle fell into the ravine.”

 

Windblade wondered how Rodimus was still walking. If someone she knew had messed with her medication dosage in a poor attempt to ‘help,’ that person would be very, very injured. “That’s awful.”

 

“Yeah, but the locals said the next town over has a pharmacy, so maybe we’ll be lucky. Drift honestly doesn’t look too good—he’s too pale and he’s so tired all the time.”

 

“Yeah, sounds like anemia. What about you? You good on your birth control?”

 

“Yep! Though hiking with tampons is _the worst_.”

 

“Well, I guess you’ll appreciate home when you get here,” Windblade said fondly.

 

“Oh, but Windy, this is so amazing,” Nautica gushed. “The views are just—I’ve taken pictures, but it really doesn’t do it justice. Out of all of us, only Drift and Cyclonus really have religious reasons to take this journey, though I don’t think they’re Catholic...but either way, it’s _almost_ enough to make me believe. I get the pilgrimage thing now.”

 

Windblade propped her chin on her hand. “How cold is it?”

 

Nautica’s face creased in a rueful smile. “Very, actually. Cyclonus has made this journey before, and he’s assured me that it does get warmer. No, wait, ‘assure’ is the wrong word. He grunted in my general direction that ‘temperature changes.’”

 

“Sounds delightful.”

 

“He’s just really introverted,” Nautica disagreed. Her tone turned thoughtful. “He seems like he’s trying to find an answer to a question he doesn’t know how to ask. I think he’s...gentle isn’t the right word, but he keeps pretty quiet, but he didn’t _have_ to come. He and Drift just sit together sometimes, after Rodimus has gone to bed. They don’t talk, they don’t even look at each other, but they seem to get something that the rest of us are missing.”

 

“You said they had some measure of faith,” Windblade pointed out.

 

“Yeah, that might be it. Anyway, Perceptor told me that the generator would only last so long and he wants to call his boyfriend. Love and kisses! Give my best to Chromia.”

 

“She’ll hate that she missed you,” Windblade told her.

 

“Give her a kiss for me, then. We’re legal!”

 

“Yes, you’re legal,” Windblade smiled. “Get some rest.”

 

Nautica saluted, and then the screen blurred and turned off. Windblade covered her face with her hands. Sometimes, it was easier to pretend that she didn’t miss her best friend when she hadn’t talked to her for a while. But inevitably Nautica’s icon would light up on Skype, and then they’d call, and the crushing longing would come back.

 

She needed some juice.

 

A knock came on the door, and Windblade wrapped her robe more securely around her. The person at the door was bouncing on their heels, holding a package, and she wondered what Chromia had ordered that time. She opened the door and propped open the screen door. “Can I help you?”

 

“Delivery for a Windblade--.”

 

“That’s me, thank you.”

 

“Sign here!”

 

Windblade scribbled her name, and the woman dumped the oddly shaped package in her arms. “Have a good day!”

 

It was some floral company, and she narrowed her eyes. No one she knew would send her flowers; there were other things she valued than something that was already dead. She took it inside to the small kitchen and started to open the package, and an enclosure popped out of the first layer.

 

It was a thick card, and she opened it cautiously. A Visa giftcard fell out—the numbers on the piece of plastic cheerfully informed her it was worth $50. The accompanying card was simple, but there were two different types of handwriting. The first type read ‘ _My apologies for treating you like shit_.’ The second was a signature she recognized, but she hadn’t thought he’d apologize. He hadn’t seemed like the apology type.

 

She threw the card into the trash, but kept the giftcard. The semester was going to start up soon, and she needed an external hard-drive. She opened up the rest of the package and her eyebrows arched that much higher. Roses. He’d sent her _roses_. What the hell?

 

They were white roses, but still! Who sent _roses_ as an apology?

 

...she did like their scent, though.

 

She filled up the plain vase with water and rose food, and then she placed the vase onto the breakfast bar. The air smelled of roses, _just_ enough to sweeten the air but not enough to trigger any of her allergies. From there, she made herself some lunch. She had work that night, and while she still burned from frustration at the encounter she had with Starscream, she was calm enough that going back to work wouldn’t make her too wary. Firestar had given her two nights off, but it was the weekend, and she needed to get back to work. Weekend nights had the best tips, and rent was due next week.

 

She nodded to herself over the simple meal of noodles. It was time to get back to work.

 

 

**_September:_ **

 

Windblade hid a yawn in her hand as the classroom started to file in. She was regretting taking three classes on Monday and Wednesday, but it was the only time those classes were offered. After this semester, she would be done with her language major requirements, and from the spring semester, it would only take another year until her international relations requirements were also met. Chinese Film and Culture, Mandarin IV, and Thai 2 were all that stood between her and completing her requirements, and she was _going_ to pass with flying colors.

 

History of Law I was...an indulgence. She needed three more electives after this one for International Relations, and while she’d heard mixed things about Professor Magnus, her basic understanding was that as long as she worked hard and did the assignments, he would have nothing to say.

 

Tuesdays and Thursdays were going to be her easy days, and she had Fridays off completely. It was good to do it that way—it would give her the right amount of time to get her homework done. That would give her nights to work, and while her sleeping schedule would be fucked seven ways, she would be all right.

 

The classroom filled with murmurs around her. She’d chosen a seat near the wall in the middle of the desk configuration; only one seat was next to her, and the last time she had checked the amount of sign-ups, the class was almost full. She doubted that a good portion of the students would stay once they understood how heavy the workload would be—she had already rented the textbooks and examined the syllabus with close eyes, and she would need every drop of free time she had to stay on top of everything.

 

She checked the clock—nine minutes to go, she still had some time to jot down more notes on Thai verbs.

 

The clock was approaching two minutes til and Professor Magnus had entered the room and started to set up the computer and projector when the door slammed open. She ignored the sound—it was a little too familiar to the sound of crashing plates—but she did pick her head up when the last student in sat down next to her. “Oh, you’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

 

“There was a fight on the main quad and it made me late,” Starscream hissed at her, “and this is the only seat available. I won’t be late next class, just deal with it.”

 

“You are--.”

 

“Attention,” Magnus said, and quiet there was. Instantly. “Welcome to History of Law I. As this is a mixed graduate and undergraduate class, there are slightly different requirements for both, but you all have your syllabi. For the group projects, I’ve divided you up by that and then alphabetically first name.”

 

A boy in the front row raised his hand, and Starscream glared at him. “Sir--?”

 

Magnus pointed at him. “Name?”

 

“Prowl.”

 

Magnus checked his list. “Yes. Go on.”

 

“The syllabus said that the presentation grade was worth 25%, but there was nothing in it about the group project.”

 

“Because the group projects _are_ the presentations. Now, I’ve already divvied you all up, but you will not be getting your topics until Thursday. The grade allotments might seem strange to you, as the final exam is worth less than your presentations and essays combined, but where law matters most is in practice, not theory, and those assignments deal the most with practical applications. You will require...”

 

“He’s such a fucking suck-up,” Starscream muttered. Windblade didn’t think it was directed at her, so she held her tongue as she quietly packed away her Thai homework and took out the syllabus. “As if anyone would willingly work with him.”

 

That, she _could_ respond to. “Like anyone would want to work with you?” she said sweetly and softly.

 

He glanced at her. “Prowl is a bastard of the first degree. He’ll probably want to work on his own because then he can trust that the work output will be exactly to his specifications.” He returned to his brooding, and she rolled her eyes. She wanted desperately to say something like ‘takes one to know one,’ but she didn’t want to get on Magnus’ bad side the first day of class.

 

Magnus took them through most of the syllabus; he chose to ignore the university-mandated parts of it, like attendance and religious holidays, but the grading system he lingered over. Once he got to the reading schedule, everyone sat up and took better notice, as they would be going over seven different cultures—Sumerian, Egyptian, Greek, Roman, ancient India, ancient China, ancient Japan, and then bring it back the early Holy Roman Empire. That gave them roughly two weeks—more like a week and a half—to spend on each culture, and while two days would be spent in lecture, the last day would be their group presentation on their chosen topic and how it related to a specific case within those cultures, and how that case showed that culture’s values.

 

It was somewhat exciting, Windblade admitted to herself.

 

The tests would be a single essay, and they would be due at midnight the Saturday before the next section would be started, and each essay had to be at least 2000 words. That wasn’t _super_ awful, but the timing could have been better.

 

“I’ve already decided your partners, so there will be no need for the scramble to get your friends,” Magnus said severely. “On Thursday, you will get your topics and then I’ll start the lecture. We have less time than it appears, and we have a lot of material to cover. Starting with Dent and Hardhead, and then...”

 

Windblade looked around the room. The room was a mixture of political science and international relations majors, and she didn’t know anyone. That had to mean that there were people between her and Starscream, right? There were twenty-two people in that room, there _had_ to be.

 

“And last but not least, Starscream and Windblade.” Magnus looked up at the room. “Your homework for Thursday has already been assigned, dismissed.”

 

Starscream and Windblade looked at each other, and in perfect unison they hissed, “You are _fucking_ kidding me.”

 

\--

 

Ratchet stuck his head inside Ultra Magnus’ door. “My flight’s leaving in three hours, do you want me to pass any messages along?”

 

“To whom?” Magnus snorted. “To Drift? Or to Rodimus?”

 

“Drift’s coming home, but Rodimus is staying to continue his travels. He’s got some kind of idea that he’ll find the real Avalon or some shit like that, so, yes, do you have any messages to Rodimus?”

 

“Yes— _come home_.”

 

“I’ll be sure to pass that along.”

 

“Are you,” Magnus shifted slightly, “Are _you_ all right?”

 

“I’m angry that Drift was hospitalized for low hemoglobin,” Ratchet shrugged, “but that problem is fixable. He’ll come home and he’ll be okay.”

 

“Religion majors,” Magnus rolled his eyes.

 

“Oh yes.”

 

They both jumped when there was a gentle throat-clearing at the door, and Ratchet raised his brows at the girl waiting. “Um, I saw that Professor Magnus had office hours during this time, but if you’re not available, Professor, I can come back later.”

 

“No, no, Windblade, come in. Professor Ratchet was leaving, anyway.”

 

“You want anything from--?” Ratchet gestured, but Magnus shook his head. “All right, I’ll be back in a week. Bye!”

 

Magnus waved his hand and then gestured to the chair in front of him. “How can I help you, Windblade?”

 

She placed her bag on the floor and sat very straight on the edge of the chair. Magnus approved. “Professor, with all due respect, I need to ask to be reassigned.”

 

Magnus placed a thin pair of reading glasses on his nose as he looked down his class listing. “Topics or partners?”

 

“Partner. I can’t work with Starscream.”

 

“Most can’t,” Magnus agreed. He leaned back in his chair and looked her over. “Optimus speaks well of you, you know. I believe you’ve done some translation work for him?”

 

“It was a brief assignment,” she demurred.

 

“He’s informed me you wish to take the exam to become a diplomat.”

 

“After I graduate, yes sir.”

 

“As someone’s who worked various government offices before I chose to retire here,” she smiled slightly, and he appreciated she understood his brief flashes of humor, “I can assure you with absolutely no doubt that you will be forced to work with people of Starscream’s caliber or worse over the course of your career.”

 

Her shoulders slumped. “So you won’t be reassigning me.”

 

“No, but if you two manage to get through the semester without killing or maiming each other, I’ll add an extra point to your worst test grade. Besides, if you choose to go onto History of Law II, you can choose your partner then.” He leaned forward again and surveyed her over the edge of his glasses. “I’d also be willing to reassign you topics. You have zoning law, yes?”

 

She fumbled for her tablet, and once she’d double-checked it, she nodded. “Yes sir.”

 

“That can be difficult,” Magnus considered the issue before he nodded. “I’ll give you something a little easier to research.”

 

“Thank you, sir.”

 

“No one has—yes, marriage law is free. Is that acceptable?”

 

She nodded. “Yes, Professor.”

 

“Excellent.” He took off his glasses and put them in his breast pocket. “If any issues arise, keep me informed. Good luck.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” she said unhappily as she removed herself.

 

The next room over, the head of the department rolled his chair so that Magnus could see him. “She’ll want to murder him.”

 

Magnus ignored the smirk on Megatron’s face. The rest of the department couldn’t stand Starscream, so it was up to Megatron to act as his advisor despite being his foster-father. They had a relationship no one fully understood. “Probably.”

 

“And marriage law—that should be an interesting assignment.”

 

_Now_ Magnus glanced at Megatron. “It has several examples in all of the cultures we’re studying. The only easier assignments are the land and criminal laws.”

 

“Still. Should be fun.” Megatron tapped his chin. The industrial lighting in the social sciences department did no one any favors—for Megatron, it bleached out his dark skin and made his brown eyes look almost red. “Keep me informed.”

 

“You just want to run a bet,” Magnus sighed.

 

“Well, this semester looks to be largely forgettable,” Megatron quipped. “We’ll need something to liven it up.”

 

“So what, you’re going to bet on how long it takes for one to maim the other?” Magnus raised a brow.

 

Megatron’s grin flashed once. “Or other things.”

 

\--

 

“Thanks for finally making some time,” Starscream snarked at Windblade as she sat down at his table.

 

She didn’t even bother to look at him as she grabbed her law notebook. He’d become intimately familiar with her blue notebook and her small handwriting over the last week and a half, and it was showing up in his dreams. That was _not_ something he wanted to have as a backdrop while some girl was going down on him. “I have class in an hour, so can we make this quick?” she bit out.

 

“My definition of marriage is the contract between two people that exchanges goods and services for societal welfare and continuation,” he said, checking down on his tablet.

 

She stared at him.

 

“What?”

 

“That’s—actually pretty good.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “I want to go into politics after graduation, so I need not to fail my classes. You hate me and trust me, it’s mutual, but do you think you could possibly step outside yourself to actually deign to work together? Magnus would just love to fail me, and that would wreck my perfectly constructed GPA.”

 

She sighed. “Fine.” She checked her watch. “I do have class in an hour, and it’s on the opposite side of campus, but I’m free this Sunday. Would you like to meet here?”

 

“Oh, god no. All of the late weekend crammers will be here, we won’t get anything done.” He tapped his lower lip. “What about your place?”

 

“What about yours?” she countered.

 

He snorted. “Sunday’s the only time Thundercracker has time to actually fuck anyone, so he kicks me and Skywarp out for the majority of the day. Seriously, your place?”

 

She wrinkled her nose. “ _Fine_. Do you need my address?”

 

“Yeah. Skyfire didn’t—I mean I don’t remember it.”

 

“I _knew_ there were two sets of handwriting on that note,” she said triumphantly.

 

“Yeah, but he’s got better handwriting than I do, for an astrochemistry major.”

 

“That’s an actual major?”

 

“Well, it’s more like he looked at the astronomy and astrophysics department and said ‘I need to go deeper,’ so he did. He’s actually an astrophysics major like I am, but he’s doing a minor in chemistry and doing his honors thesis on astrochemistry.”

 

“Wait, if you’re an astrophysics major then why--.”

 

“Double major with political science, _duh_. Gimme your number so I don’t surprise you on Sunday.”

 

He heard her mutter something like ‘I really fucking doubt that’, but she scribbled something down on an index card and slid it over to him. “And if my number gets leaked I know who to go after,” she threatened, her ruby lips pursed.

 

“That’s so unsubtle, that is totally not what I would do.”

 

“Oh great, something to look forward to. Sunday, then, I guess.”

 

“You bring the snacks!” he called after her.

 

She waved her middle finger at him as she left, and he chuckled once. Only his friends fought with him—that was nice.

 

He turned back to his law notes. _Wow_ , those Sumerians.

 

\--

 

“I really feel like I should stick around and warn him that I’m licensed to carry a gun,” Chromia grumbled as Windblade whisked a bowl full of sugar and butter. “And why are you baking for him anyway?”

 

“I’m making spice cookies,” Windblade grunted. “Because I need comfort food. And no, you don’t need to be here, I’m sure he’ll behave himself. I hope.”

 

“Windblade...”

 

“Go to work! Those poor retail associates need you.”

 

Chromia hesitated. “Make sure some are left over.”

 

“Definitely.” Windblade propped her hands on her apron-covered hips, to avoid butter on anything that mattered. “Now go.”

 

“Do you want me to bring home the good vodka?”

 

“Do I really need—yes, yes please.” Windblade shook her braid over her shoulder to keep the end out of the now-creamed butter and sugar, and she added a splash of vanilla extract. Baking _always_ required a splash of vanilla. Then—two eggs and a cup and a half of all-purpose flour, whisk until it came together, and then add ginger, cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg, and cloves. Cloves made _such_ a difference.

 

“I’ll leave you to your science,” Chromia said, and Windblade shrugged a shoulder at her as she focused on the mixing bowl.

 

She tasted the batter—just spicy and sweet enough, she kind of wanted to try making molasses cookies, only as spiced molasses cookies because molasses and ginger went together _so_ well—but it was fine for now, and she started to plop spoonfuls of batter onto the prepared cookie sheet.

 

Spice cookies and tea were perfectly adequate for studying. She had soda, but she tried to avoid carbonated drinks as a general rule. It was Chromia who drank through entire cases of soda during any given week. Nautica liked juice, but Windblade didn’t like anything as sweet as what Nautica liked.

 

God, she missed her.

 

The cookies had just come out—cookies did _not_ take long to bake—when the doorbell rang. “The door’s open!” she called, frowning at the cookie sheet. She needed a new one, maybe she would run to Home Goods on Tuesday or something.

 

“Do you know the crime stats for your neighborhood?” Starscream asked as he closed the door and locked it for good measure. “They’re awful.”

 

“That explains why the rent’s so reasonable,” she shot back. “I know the neighborhood’s not great, but my neighbors are good people and I’ve never felt unsafe.”

 

“Do you have weapons—what is that smell?”

 

“Spice cookies, if you have an allergy tell me now.”

 

“No allergies. You _baked_ for me?”

 

“Not for you, dumbass. I like to eat cookies while I study and you just happened to be coming by.” She put the kettle on the stove and turned on the gas. “Take that look off your face.”

 

Starscream smirked. “What look do you mean?”

 

She pointed the spatula at him. “I’m not a little woman, just loving to stay home and cook for her man.”

 

“Then why do you cook? I mean, I could make a joke about waitresses and cooking here.”

 

“Or you could not do that and end up with tea in a cup, not in your lap,” she smiled poisonously at him as she placed cookies on the plate. “And I cook because I like to eat. Eating out is more expensive in the long run than cooking for yourself.”

 

“Good thing I don’t have to worry about that,” he stretched out in the chair, his long legs resting against the feet of the table. Windblade glanced down at his dark-washed jeans and back up to his face. “So, did you find anything interesting?”

 

She indicated the packet of notes on the table. “Found three separate cases, thought you might like to go over them. I understand why Magnus wants us to write up the briefs the way he does, but that’s not really how those cases were structured.”

 

“I’m sure we can find something,” he said absently, flipping through the first page. “You’re really anal about this kind of thing.”

 

“I prefer detail-oriented.”

 

He snorted. “ _I_ am detail oriented. _You_ repeat the same thing three times.”

 

She drew back, stung. “It helps me remember it.”

 

“You’ve never had a study partner before, have you?” He looked up at her. “You’ve always had to rely on your own note-taking to help memorize concepts.”

 

“So what?” She cleared her throat. “I’ve managed my 4.0 GPA perfectly well up until now.”

 

“Hey, it’s not a criticism, but poli sci works a little different than language.”

 

“My schedule hasn’t exactly allowed me to work with another person except for language projects,” she admitted. “I’ve got black tea and white tea, what kind do you want?”

 

“Anal much?”

 

“Dude, not anal. It depends on the leaves that are used to brew it and color of the tea after it’s brewed.” She sighed. “Black tea is more caffeinated, whereas white tea has a more—and you were fucking with me, weren’t you.”

 

“Totally. Black tea, I need the caffeine.”

 

“Why do you even do that?”

 

“Fuck with people? It’s fun.”

 

“This is probably why you have so few friends,” she said severely.

 

“Yeah, probably.” He looked back down at her notes. “Oh, hey, I forgot that about the Code of Hammurabi.”

 

“I will be more than happy to forget it once this class is over,” she grumbled. “That is _not_ justice.”

 

He picked his head up as she poured hot water into the two prepared mugs. “Isn’t justice giving people what they’re due?”

 

“Deciding what people are due as a result of the actions they take is largely a cultural thing and varies,” she pointed out, putting one mug in front of him and placing down the tea box. “I kind of think justice should have a more universal definition.”

 

“Maybe that’s the whole point,” he selected Earl Grey, and she rolled her eyes. “Maybe justice has to have a cultural definition, because justice _isn’t_ the same across cultures.”

 

“But in order to have any sort of legal system that crosses borders, you have to have a more universal definition that can be upheld.”

 

“Since when do justice and legality coincide?” He dipped in his teabag. “The legal system isn’t based on justice.”

 

“Whoa, whoa, don’t change up the parameters,” she held up a hand. “We’re talking justice as it relates to a legal system, not justice as a concept outside of a working legal system.”

 

“Fine. In that case, my original definition still stands—justice is giving someone what they’re due. In terms of international legality, there’s an international standard of what someone is due thanks to various treaties and documents that define it.”

 

“How well can that standard be upheld when international documents can change? Or how the Human Rights Court can violate basic principles of liberty?”

 

He shrugged. “People suck.”

 

She picked the teabag out of her mug and put it on the plate. “That’s your answer.”

 

“Justice is never objective.” He took one of the cookies from the plate. “So therefore, there can never be one definition of justice that can apply to every situation that comes up.”

 

She eyed him. “You took philosophy of law last semester, didn’t you?”

 

He grinned. “Maybe.”

 

She helped herself to a cookie, determined to ignore how smug he was. She dunked it in her tea and pulled her packet of notes back to herself. “All right, so back to the homework.”

 

“I like the second example. Culturally, it proves that the Sumerians had values shift over time, and it shows the status of women at the time the decision was made.”

 

“I still don’t get how a society that had goddesses as awesome as Inanna end up, well, where they ended up.”

 

“She ended up being kind of a monster in the later myths, if I remember correctly.”

 

“ _After_ the patriarchal shift.” She took another cookie. “If you look at the cultures of the Mediterranean, you’ll notice that there is a patriarchal shift over time.”

 

“And you’d know this because you’re a languages major.”

 

“Part of being a language major means taking history of linguistics, and language shifts with culture.” She rolled her eyes at him.

 

“You don’t say.”

 

“Shut up and eat your cookies.”

 

\--

 

“I know we’ve had this conversation before,” Professor Prime said gently, “but the deadline _is_ approaching if you’ve made the decision. It would be wise to take the LSATs next spring or early summer to give yourself the best amount of time to work on law school applications.”

 

Windblade’s stomach twisted. “I’m not really in the place where I can make that decision yet, Professor. I’ve been just managing to stay on top of my courseload and my work demands, and adding something else to that fragile balance seems beyond me right now.”

 

He sighed, slightly disappointed, and her stomach knotted with nerves. She _hated_ disappointing her international relations advisor, but she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to go to law school, even if he was convinced that was the best place for her. “Very well. Are you interested in taking international law next semester? I believe that Professor Megatron had successfully wrested it from Professor Magnus’ grasp.”

 

“I was kind of thinking of taking History of Law II,” she admitted. “I’ve already taken Intro to International Relations, but International Econ is only offered in the spring and I’d like to take that then instead of next year.”

 

“I believe one of Megatron’s graduate TAs is teaching a class on terrorism,” Professor Prime said as he accessed the school’s database. “No, wait, that’s next fall, my apologies.”

 

“Since my language focus is East Asia, I thought I’d take Politics and Economics of East Asia,” she said. “Since I have to do a regional focus for the major.”

 

“I think that Colonialism and Imperialism in Asia will be offered over the summer, and that would complete your regional focus.”

 

“So that would leave Politics of Developing Areas and Global Conflict for the fall,” she said. Both of those courses were popular enough between the prelaw, poli-sci, international relations, and international studies majors that they were offered every semester. “So my spring schedule looks like History of Law II, Politics and Economics of East Asia, International Economics, and...”

 

“Take something easy,” Professor Prime advised. “All of those courses involve a heavy reading load.”

 

“I could take an honors seminar?” she offered. “I have to begin research for my senior thesis anyway.”

 

“Perfect. And you’re still on track to graduate by next year.”

 

She stood up and offered her hand, and he took it. He squeezed it, and—looking directly into her eyes—said, “Please think about the LSATs some more? Your mind is gifted and a law background won’t hurt you in the State department.”

 

She dropped her eyes. “Yes, sir.” She picked up her bag and checked her phone—she and Starscream had made plans to meet at the library, but she had a shift at work in an hour and a half, and she needed to stop home to change her clothes.

 

“Don’t be a stranger,” Professor Prime advised. “You’re always welcome to come here and work if you need the space.”

 

“Thank you, Professor.” She made a face as she hitched her bag over her shoulder. “At times it feels like I need it.”

 

Professor Prime didn’t smile much, but when he did, it seemed like everything would be all right. “Then use it when you require it.”

 

She smiled in return, and she left his office. The social sciences building was adjunct to the library, but the library itself was more of a complex than a single building. Most universities had multiple libraries, broken up by subject, but due to being a rather urban university, meaning that the city had sprung up before the university, the school had elected to have multiple library buildings instead of multiple libraries.

 

The law library was on the opposite side of the complex from the social sciences building. She texted Starscream to let him know she was on her way, but that she was running late. She’d honestly forgotten she’d made an appointment to see Professor Prime three weeks ago until her tablet had chimed that morning with the reminder. She’d thought she would have enough time to see Prime, then study with Starscream, and then go to work, but Firestar had called her an hour before she went to see Prime to ask her to come in an hour early.

 

Today sucked, and she recognized that. Telling Starscream she had to go home was just gonna be the cherry on the shit sundae. He seemed to get that she had multiple obligations, but his whole deal was that when they made an arrangement to get something done, he expected her to make that her priority. Maybe it was because the only other extracurricular obligation he had was his thesis project with that lab partner of his, and he didn’t have a job, but she had to juggle multiple obligations and priorities at any given time, and her courseload and work came before studying with someone else.

 

She sighed. He’d been almost decent the last couple of times. Maybe he’d stay that way.

 

He was seated at their usual table with a cup of coffee, frowning down at his notes. She slid into her chair, and he glared up at her. “You’re late.”

 

“My life is a series of spinning plates, and I lost track of one until this morning,” she replied. “I texted you to let you know I would be late.”

 

“And then you texted me to tell me you can’t stay as long as you promised.”

 

“I have work tonight.”

 

His glare deepened. “I don’t ask you for very much--.”

 

“You ask for things literally all the time.”

 

He ignored her. “I don’t ask you for very much, but being able to _be here_ is something you can surely do.”

 

“So we’re really going to fight about the fact that I have a job that I need to pay my rent. Great.”

 

He leaned forward and glared at her. She glared right back, her heartbeat racing.  “When you’ve made arrangements to work with me, that time is _mine_.”

 

She waited a beat, to see if he was fucking with her, but when the glare didn’t abate, she stood up. “Absolutely not,” she said coldly. “You don’t own anything about me, _or_ my time. I _choose_ to give some of my time to you; it’s a gift, not an entitlement. Now I have to spend my time elsewhere, because on my grand list of priorities you are nowhere near the top.”

 

“You’re such a bitch,” he fumed.

 

“And you’re a jerkass who doesn’t respect people enough to know they have needs greater than you,” she tossed back. She turned on her heel and walked away, anger warming her blood. She’d thought he maybe was decent and that he wasn’t always the world’s biggest asshat, but _nope_ , he was and the genuine stuff they’d talked about was a front, meant to worm past her walls. Put some real stress in his life and that front melted away to show that he was, and always going to be, an asshole.

 

_Ugh_.

 

\--

 

“I hate her,” Starscream called to Skyfire, who was frowning over the percolator. “She’s the worst.”

 

“I bet she’s thinking the same thing about you.”

 

“You’re my best friend! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

 

“You’re still making up for despicableness of August. Until you make up for that, _I am not on your side_.”

 

“Is it too much to ask for that her mind’s on me when we’re working?”

 

“Think about that last question.”

 

“On what we’re doing! Not me like that.”

 

“I think it’s fair to be annoyed that she forgot,” Skyfire said guardedly as he came into the main room. He held a plate of sandwiches, one of which Starscream took. “Because she _did_ make arrangements and wasted your time. But I also think she has a lot of responsibilities and given that she’s never forgotten before, and she deserves some slack for that.”

 

Starscream sat up. “Fine,” he grumbled. “You have a point. Ugh, this means I have to apologize again, don’t I.”

 

“Congratulations, you’re an adult,” Skyfire told him sweetly. “It means you do what you have to do.”

 

Starscream made a face at him as he ate his sandwich in large bites. Once it was gone, he cleared his throat. “Do you wanna go out tonight? After we get work done? It’s been ages.”

 

“You just want to get laid.”

 

“I think I need it, don’t you? And to be honest, I haven’t had sex since the semester started.”

 

“You’re _joking_.”

 

“I’m not!”

 

“Then why is Thundercracker under the impression you’ve had a long list of lovers?”

 

“He gets really bent out of shape about it and I think it’s hilarious, so...I fake it.”

 

“I can’t begin to tell you everything that’s wrong about that sentence,” Skyfire sighed. “But yes, I suppose. I’m going home after two drinks, fair warning.”

 

“Your internet relationship’s turned you into an old man,” Starscream fussed. “Just two drinks?”

 

“I don’t tend to enjoy the morning afters,” Skyfire said dryly.

 

“ _Excuses_.”

 

“Do you want me to go?”

 

“...yes.”

 

“Yes, what?”

 

“Yes, _please_.”

 

“But let’s get back to work before we do.”

 

Starscream brightened. “Oh, so I had some ideas—have you accounted for the possibility of an Einstein-Rosen bridge? That might be what’s throwing off your calculations.”

 

“You know that they’re— _wait a minute_.” Skyfire jumped to his feet and went over to the board, wiping clean their calculations and beginning anew. Starscream excused himself to the kitchen to pour coffee for Skyfire from the abandoned percolator. Once Skyfire had his, Starscream returned to his own calculations.

 

He made sure to set a timer; like _hell_ was he letting their work carry them past going out for the night. Skyfire really didn’t like to go out, and he would totally use their work as an excuse not to go.

 

When his timer went off several hours later, Skyfire jumped and would have spilled his cold coffee had Starscream not placed it far enough away to protect it. The things he did for his friends. “Did you have to choose such a jarring alarm?”

 

“Yes, I need to be able to hear it.”

 

“Mission accomplished.” Skyfire blinked at his whiteboard. “I need to go over this.”

 

“You need a break,” Starscream urged. “You won’t see the mistakes or the brilliance until you’re away from it for a while.”

 

“ _Fine_.” Skyfire glanced down at his wrinkled red shirt and faded jeans. “Is this agreeable or should I change?”

 

“Your _face_ is agreeable,” Starscream muttered, but he shrugged acquiescence. “It’s fine.”

 

“Should I get my car?”

 

“Nah, I want to go to Maccadam’s, it’s within walking distance.”

 

“Not a bad choice,” Skyfire admitted. “All right, let me get my wallet and keys. I should probably take your phone, because you have a bad habit of drunk-dialing.”

 

Starscream held onto his phone protectively. “I usually drunk-dial _you_. If you’re with me, who the hell am I gonna drunk-dial?”

 

“I shudder to think. Give me your phone, Star.”

 

“No! I need it as a distraction if someone gets too boring.”

 

“Starscream,” Skyfire advanced on him. “Give me your phone.”

 

Starscream set his jaw and tucked his phone in his back pocket. “Come and get it.”

 

“I’m not going to fight with you on this.” Skyfire held out his hand. “We’re going to prevent any sort of thing you might also have to apologize for.”

 

Starscream’s back hit the wall. “No,” he said firmly. “Besides, what happens if I need a ride? How am I going to call you or TC?”

 

Skyfire narrowed his eyes, but he let the matter drop. “Two drinks.”

 

“Fine, fine,” Starscream waved a hand.

 

Maccadam’s had the dubious honor of being the closest bar to the student residence halls while not being on the campus proper. The booze was cheap in all senses of the word, and frequently overage students were the ones to staff it.

 

It was obviously one of the best places to meet people to hook up with. No expectations beyond a few hours, and the booze was plentiful. There were rumors that the chemistry majors used Maccadam’s to discover new methods of distillery, and the unofficial motto of the bar was ‘Maccadam’s—no hangover is the same’.

 

It being a Friday night, the place was crawling with people, and Skyfire moved closer to Starscream. Right, he was an introvert, lots of people were not his thing. “You wanna find a table?” Starscream offered. “I’ll get the drinks?”

 

“I think I’ll stick close to you,” Skyfire said, skirting around the dance floor. “Besides, you might order me a drink that’s too strong.”

 

“You’re such a _girl_.”

 

“Starscream...”

 

“I will get you a suitably fruity drink, don’t you worry,” Starscream patted his arm before he leaned on the bar counter. “Can I get a finger of whisky and a--,” he read down the list of options on the blackboard behind the counter, “vodka lemonade?”

 

“Sure,” the bartender chirped. Starscream passed her a ten dollar bill and waited, and once they had their drinks, Starscream shoved the highball glass at Skyfire. “Is that suitable?” he asked sardonically, sipping his drink and running his eyes along the assembled crowd.

 

A few guys caught his eye, but he wasn’t in the mood for cock, and a girl down the other end of the counter with dark hair and bright red lipstick was awarded with his full attention. She was with a friend, and she laughed as she sipped from a black straw.

 

Yes. Yes, good.

 

She wore black-rimmed glasses and the half-light from the neon decorating the wall above the bar tinted those glasses in strange colors. Her lips pursed as her friend said something, and that red lipstick was _really_ distracting. She looked down the bar and their eyes met, and he grinned.

 

She lifted her nose, but then she winked, and he knew that was an invitation. “’Scuse me, Skyfire, I need to go see a lady.”

 

“We’ve only been here for five minutes,” Skyfire complained. “No, fine. I’ll go home and Skype my boyfriend.”

 

“Use your webcam for not safe for work things,” Starscream recommended. “Bye!”

 

“Starscream--! Ugh, _bye_.”

 

Starscream worked his way through the crowd expertly until he got to the girl’s side. Her friend had vanished, and she looked up at him with a lazy smile. “You’re here just in time to get me a new drink.”

 

“I do work on having excellent timing.” He waved down the bartender. “Another drink for the lady and I’ll take a refill.” He rephrased that sentence in his head, “When you get a moment.”

 

The bartender brightened, and she got them their drinks much more quickly. “So, what’s your major?” the girl asked, sipping her (girly) drink through the straw. He was a little mesmerized by how her (red, red) lips flexed around the plastic and he looked up at her.

 

“Astrophysics and poli-sci. You?”

 

“Psychology. You really like a challenge, huh?”

 

“Only stimulating ones.”

 

“Well, I’m sure those two majors are just full of them,” she laughed. “Psychology, we just get the weird ones.”

 

“Weird challenges can be good,” he said, looking down at her. She was playing with a lock of hair, and he brushed his fingers against it. “Certainly keeps life from being boring.”

 

She tilted her jaw against the back of his fingers, and his blood raced just a little faster. “And that would be a terrible tragedy,” she agreed solemnly. Her eyes danced and she smiled. “You wanna come back to my place and be not boring?”

 

“I’ve heard worse offers.”

 

She pressed herself closer to him, and he was treated to a delightful image of looking down and seeing the shadow of her cleavage. “So is that a yes?”

 

He tucked the loose piece of hair she had been playing with behind her ear, and she shivered when he ran the edge of his nail down the sensitive skin behind it. “It’s a yes.”

 

“My roommate’s out of town for the weekend, so no worries there.”

 

“Sounds great.”

 

She lived in one of the closer residential halls, and once they were inside her comparatively tiny dorm, she had him backed up against the door and was kissing him. His eyes slid shut as he wrapped his hands around her thighs and hoisted her up so that she was tucked up against him, and she purred approval at him.

 

He had no interest in sex up against the wall, so he managed the two of them to the bed, where he dropped her and then paused. “I’d _really_ like to go down on you for round 1,” he said, placing his hands above her shoulders. The glasses magnified her eyes, and they grew round. “I love to go down on chicks.”

 

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she said breathlessly. “Help me out of my clothes?”

 

He smirked.

 

It turned out she was a hair-puller.

 

\--

 

Windblade’s phone shrilled from its’ position near her head. She startled awake, reaching for it before she fully understood her phone was ringing. “H’lo,” she grumped, hoping it was just a wrong number. “Wh’ zi.”

 

“Wow, how tired are _you?_ ”

 

“St’Scr,” she mumbled. “Time.”

 

“I know, I know.” He sounded way too awake, and was that—were his words slurred a little? Was he _drunk_? “You awake?”

 

“No.”

 

“Too bad,” he sang out. “Because _I_ am awake and I can’t stop thinking about you!”

 

“Noooo,” she complained. “Hng’g up.”

 

“No, wait, please.”

 

He did say ‘please.’ “Wat,” she demanded.

 

“I forgot that you have other obligations,” he sighed. “And that was...my bad.”

 

“U—ur saying srry.” She tried to get her mind awake, but all that was coming out was text speech. She supposed it was better than babbling at him in Mandarin. Those ideograms were haunting her dreams.

 

“No! I mean, yes. Kind of.”

 

“Soooo spec—spec---whatever.”

 

“You _are_ exhausted.”

 

“Don’t sl’p much.”

 

“I can see that. How much of this conversation will you remember when you wake up?”

 

“Not m’ch,” she admitted. She was too tired to remember the details.

 

“Right then. Why don’t you sleep much?”

 

“Too m’ch work. Had to sac’fice something, so it’s s’lp.”

 

“That’s so sad. _You’re_ so sad.”

 

“Sh’ up.”

 

“Do you sleep well?”

 

She rolled over onto her back and pulled her duvet back on top of herself. “No,” she admitted. She frowned up at her ceiling. “Why call me?”

 

“I told you, I was thinking about you.” There was a weird noise on the other end of the line. “Come see me tomorrow—I mean later today. I’m in Nemesis, I can text you my room number.”

 

“Wan’a sl’p.”

 

“I know. Late afternoon? I’ll get you dinner.”

 

She considered that. Free food was always good. “Fine. Le’ me sl’p.”

 

“Sweet dreams,” he teased.

 

“Ni’ Scrm’r.”

 

She closed her phone and went back to sleep immediately, and in the meantime, Starscream tilted his back more firmly against the wall as he stretched his legs along the floor. ‘Well,’ he said to himself, ‘you’re _really_ fucked.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we have one of my favorite gags in the entire piece. It was inspired by Aziz Ansari's performance in Parks&Recreation, so have that to whet your appetite.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My social sciences hat is showing. Welp, I'm a politics nerd.
> 
> Also! Favorite gag in the entire work is in this chapter. See if you can spot it.
> 
> Velocity's face claim is [here](http://photos.newknd.com/media/x1920/RinkoKikuchi2522038548.jpg).

**PART THREE**

**_Then:_ **

****

**_October_ **

 

Windblade knocked on Room 333’s door and shifted from foot to foot. She’d woken up to her phone buzzing in her hand with a text, something about promising to come see Starscream that afternoon and his dorm room number and location. It was easier than it should have been to get into the building—as she had approached, some people had been leaving and they held the door open for her.

 

She’d spotted Prowl sitting at the RA desk and she suddenly understood where Starscream’s vehemence came from.

 

The door opened and she looked up to see—not Starscream. The man standing in the door was one of the most attractive men she’d ever met, and she squared her shoulders. “Um, this is Starscream’s dorm room, right? I’m Windblade.”

 

“Screamer’s coming,” he assured her as he stepped to the side. “He just went out to get something. I’m Thundercracker.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” she said faintly. Dear god, his eyes were gorgeous. “You call him Screamer?”

 

“Best name we’ve heard for him,” Thundercracker said, closing the door. “And, um—it makes sense in context. Something to drink?”

 

“Uh, water or tea would be fine.”

 

Thundercracker smiled. “Both we have. What do you prefer?”

 

She trailed after him, a little dizzy at his smile. “Um, tea, preferably. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

 

“Screamer told us he called you, so feel free to blame him.”

 

“I—okay.” She sat down on the couch and let her bag rest at her feet. “So, uh, what’s your major?”

 

“Aeronautic engineering,” he said, putting the kettle on. “Lot of math. Sometimes Screamer and me speak math at each other until Skywarp threatens to set us both on fire.”

 

“Skywarp?”

 

“Third roommate. Not _entirely_ sure where he is right now, but I have no doubt he’ll be back.” He was grinning at her. Oh lordy, he was grinning at her and she hastily looked down. Some men were just too attractive to look at for very long. “We’re not even sure what his major is but he assures us he will be graduating with us.”

 

“Oh dear.”

 

“Pretty much.”

 

A black cat was rubbing his face on her leg, and she reached down to pet him absently. He lifted up his jaw for scritches, and then he jumped onto her lap.

 

“Bitch!” Thundercracker said warningly.

 

She stiffened. “Excuse me?”

 

“The cat.” Thundercracker stared at the cat, who yawned and melted down into a cat puddle on Windblade’s lap. She massaged the top of his head and he purred, and she couldn’t fully understand why Thundercracker was looking so concerned. “Bitch, _get down_.”

 

“He’s fine where he is, really--.”

 

The cat caught her hand and dug his claws in, and she bit down her lip as he raked the heel of her hand with his back paws. Blood wasn’t being drawn, but it _did_ hurt. “I...think I see the problem.”

 

“He’s got an issue with dominance,” Thundercracker glared as the cat let her go and apparently fell asleep. “Now that he’s established he’s dominant, he’ll chivvy you around and demand pets.”

 

There was a whimpering noise from the corner, and her eyes fell on a small dog in the corner. “You have a dog and a cat?”

 

“That’s Buster, she’s a good girl. Bitch is Starscream’s cat, but more like his cat in that Bitch followed Starscream home.”

 

“...correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t pets not allowed in the dorms?”

 

“Bitch hides somewhere and Skywarp can usually figure out whenever Prowl’s about to inspect, so I’m always taking Buster on a walk.” Thundercracker’s new smile was very sly and her heart squeezed slightly. “Prowl is _so_ certain we have pets but he can’t prove it. It’s great to see him so annoyed.”

 

On Windblade’s lap, Bitch settled more firmly on top of her skirt and she wondered how she would get black cat hairs off the scarlet. “Did Starscream say when he’d be back?”

 

“I think he was grabbing dinner, actually.” Thundercracker tapped his chin. “That could be...taking a while. Lemme text him.”

 

“It’s not like I’m moving,” she looked down at the cat. “Is Bitch really his name?”

 

“Well, his name on the veterinary paperwork is Desdemona—apparently Skywarp really liked Othello—but we just call him Bitch after he decided to establish himself head of whatever pride he thinks we are.”

 

She snorted. “Ah.” The cat buried his face against the folds of her skirt, and she began to pet him again. She couldn’t resist—Nautica loved cats but Chromia was deathly allergic, and she liked fuzzy creatures. “Why not bring him to a shelter or something?”

 

“Because Screamer, for all of his many faults, still believes in fate of a kind, and if that cat followed him home, then obviously he was meant to adopt the cat. Or something. He’s not a bad pet owner, but Bitch was already over a year old and we were just lucky that he’d been part of some sort of catch and release program where they neutered him before he learned how to spray.”

 

“...that is good.”

 

“Yep. So, tea for you, do you like anything in it?”

 

“What kind of tea is it?”

 

“White peach, I think.”

 

She doubted that Starscream was the type to drink fruity teas, and she shook her head. “No, thank you.”

 

Thundercracker favored her with another smile, and her heart sped up. “You’re welcome.” Before she could anything dumb like dump the cat and crawl onto Thundercracker’s lap, the door opened and Starscream struggled inside with multiple bags. Thundercracker got up and helped, and Starscream handed him several of the bags.

 

“Oh good, you’re here.”

 

“I was told I’d promised to come,” she frowned slightly. She _really_ didn’t remember last night’s conversation.

 

“You did,” Starscream agreed, and she wasn’t sure she liked how he was looking at her. There was something assessing in his gaze, not malicious or spiteful, but she wouldn’t call it positive, either. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Since when do you care?” she asked.

 

Thundercracker was now doing the dance of the people who wished their existence to be forgotten. Starscream’s eyes narrowed, and the he shrugged. “I don’t. Shoo, Bitch.”

 

The cat yawned at him but jumped off, and Starscream picked up her bag and carried it over to the desks. “Skywarp’s on his way home,” he called to Thundercracker. “Said something about being in the mood for video games.”

 

“I killed him yesterday, he probably wants to get me back.” Thundercracker’s eyes tracked Windblade drinking her tea, and she wondered why. “I’ll make sure we close the door.”

 

“Thanks,” Starscream snarked.

 

“What kind of food did you get?” Windblade asked, standing up. It was super weird being there, and both of them were focusing on her in a way that made her feel really uncomfortable. “I—uh—have some allergies.”

 

“Are your allergies related in any way to curry, gluten, and peanuts?”

 

“Peanuts yes, everything else, no.”

 

“Lo mein it is,” Thundercracker said, opening a cabinet to bring down plates. “I’ll make sure he makes a note of the ‘no peanuts’. Anything else?”

 

“Shellfish, bees, and—nuts in general, actually.”

 

“It’s all chicken and vegetables here,” Thundercracker assured her. Starscream was still inspecting her, and she was finding it hard to meet his eyes.

 

“Um, is there a problem?”

 

“I don’t think so—Screamer!”

 

Starscream lifted her chin and tilted her face. She froze in his hold, _very_ much disliking where this was going. “What’s going on?” she grated out, grabbing his wrist.

 

He let go of her. “Are you anemic?”

 

“Mildly. I take iron supplements and eat as much meat as I can. Why?”

 

“You’re too pale.”

 

“That would be...because I’m anemic.”

 

Starscream looked unhappy, and she released his wrist. Thundercracker was watching them with wide eyes, and she slid around him. “Um, maybe I should just go home--.”

 

“Stay, please,” Thundercracker said. “Star didn’t get a lot of sleep last night either, so he doesn’t recognize when he needs to dial himself down, _right_ , Screamer?”

 

“Right.” Starscream shook his head and wandered back into the kitchen. Windblade was still debating the pros and cons of just _leaving_ when the door crashed open for the second time.

 

“I’m here!” the short man in the doorway announced.

 

“Sky _warp_ ,” both Starscream and Thundercracker sighed. Bitch yowled at all of them and padded over to where Buster was curled up, nudging the dog until she made room for the cat.

 

Skywarp grinned at her as he closed the door with a flourish. “So _you’re_ Windblade, it’s a _delight_ to meet you,” he picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. She wrinkled her nose in distaste but he ignored that. “Screamer’s been _hiding_ you, it’s _such_ a shame.”

 

“’Warp, stop speaking in italics,” Thundercracker said, annoyed. “There’s food over here.”

 

“Food!” Skywarp dropped her hand and _pranced_ over to the small kitchen.

 

“Windblade, I have your plate,” Thundercracker called, and she removed herself from Starscream’s gaze to grab the plate from Thundercracker. She wondered if she was supposed to sit on the couch, but Starscream nodded to the desks and that’s where she took her plate. She started to eat as Skywarp and Thundercracker traded insults, and Starscream ignored them as he brought his food over to her. He sat just a little too close, and she edged back a little.

 

“What is _with_ you?” she asked with frustration. “You’ve been totally ignoring my personal space all day.”

 

“When was the last time you went to the doctor?”

 

She arched her brows. “When I needed to get stitches from a work incident. Work covered it. Why?”

 

He kept _staring_ at her, like he was expecting to see cracks in her skin or something. “You should be going to the doctor once a year,” he said abruptly.

 

“That costs,” she sighed. “I have school insurance but there’s always a copay, so I have to judge my money carefully.”

 

That made him purse his lips, and he wouldn’t stop looking at her, but he dropped the questions and turned to his notes. “There was a shift around the time of the Silk Road opening that changed legal codes.”

 

She put her plate aside and flipped through her own notes. “Ah yes, how trade impacted cultural values. Egypt was a huge trade center, so with physical trade there came an exchange of values and cultural mores as well. It was the habit of nation-states to build temples to foreign gods whenever there was a cross-cultural marriage; when parts of the Old Testament said that Ahab was basically an asshole for making sure Jezebel had a temple to worship her gods at, that was common practice at the time, a sign of respect for her.”

 

“Seems like there’s a shit ton of context that goes missing,” he commented.

 

She flashed a smile at him. “ _Always_.”

 

“How do you even know that, anyway?”

 

“You know how you have to take a certain number of non-major electives?”

 

“...yes.”

 

“I took a Bible In Context class, and my professor lingered over that one. She really liked Jezebel, actually, and she defended her to the theology majors in the room.”

 

“And _your_ feelings about Jezebel?”

 

“I think that maybe she wasn’t as bad as she’s painted, but she was used to make a point about negative femininity.” Windblade shrugged. “Not a religion major, don’t want to be— _so_ don’t want to be—but there’s a lot that gets missed without the context.”

 

“Interesting point,” Starscream hummed. He turned back to their notes. “So with that shift, how did that change the view on marriage?”

 

“Well, it kind of didn’t. It just made cross-cultural marriage more feasible.”

 

“ _Dude_ ,” Skywarp hissed in Thundercracker’s ear. “ _DUDE_.”

 

“I see it, you lug, stop hitting me.”

 

“Skyfire needs to know this _right fucking now_.”

 

“He’s going to say evidence or it didn’t happen,” Thundercracker warned. “And _don’t_ livetweet this.”

 

“Awww. And—yep, Skyfire said he needs evidence.”

 

“Go get your selfie stick.”

 

Skywarp brightened. “TC, that’s _brilliant_.”

 

Thundercracker flashed a smile at Skywarp. “I try. Go.”

 

Starscream and Windblade were arguing, but quietly, and Starscream hadn’t deepened his voice in condescension yet. She was curled over the desk and their shared notes, but Starscream’s left leg was framing the legs of her chair. He was talking to her as an equal, and he talked to almost no one like that.

 

Skywarp returned with the selfie stick, bouncing slightly. Thundercracker set up his phone with quick, economical movements, and then—making sure neither of them were paying attention—he carefully moved the stick out of the window of the kitchenette, and the camera was starting to record already.

 

“How long?” Skywarp whispered.

 

“Less than a minute, I think. I’ve never seen Screamer’s body language that friendly to anyone who isn’t us.”

 

“There’s more to religious context than merely propping up social norms,” Windblade insisted, her voice peaking a little. “I’m not saying they can’t be _used_ that way, but religious faith in and of itself isn’t a social vehicle for control. Besides, religious law was the first codified international law. Canon law crossed borders before anything else did.”

 

“Yeah, but you can’t deny the religious codes have been used to create stratifications in society in order to build classes.”

 

“I’ve never denied that, but you’re acting like faith was never a consideration, and I’m telling you that faith _always_ was. Systems don’t last very long without the genuine believers.”

 

Skywarp and Thundercracker exchanged looks of slight panic. They needed to get Skyfire here _immediately_.

 

“Do you need more tea?” Starscream asked brusquely, gesturing to her mug.

 

“Um, more would be nice.” Windblade started to get up, but Starscream looked at Thundercracker, who was seated on the couch reading. The noises from Skywarp’s room informed the population at large that he was enjoying mightily the new Jurassic World game.

 

Thundercracker looked up, and Starscream said, “Thundercracker?”

 

“He doesn’t need to, I can get it,” Windblade protested.

 

“It’s fine,” Thundercracker told her with a smile. She subsided immediately, and Starscream eyed her. She usually put up more of a fight than that. “Besides, our kitchen is not for the faint of heart. That’s Screamer’s fault.”

 

“Hey! That is at least _sixty_ percent Skywarp’s fault.”

 

“Try fifty. No worries, Windblade.” Thundercracker pushed himself upright—he and Skywarp would play video games after Skyfire arrived. He ambled into the kitchen as the argument picked back up, and he put the kettle back on. The box of white peach tea sat innocently on the counter, looking like only one teabag had been used, but he double-checked anyway. Whenever Starscream wrote something on food he brought into the dorm, even something like ‘THIS IS FOR WINDBLADE, DON’T TOUCH SKYWARP,’ Skywarp was irresistibly drawn to messing with it.

 

The box remained untouched, and he removed one more packet for Windblade’s cup. Just as he was turning the corner of the kitchenette, Skyfire blew through the door, utterly soaked.

 

Conversation stopped. “Skyfire? What are you doing here?” Starscream immediately glared at Thundercracker, who attempted to look innocent.

 

Skyfire rolled his eyes at him. “I heard there was food.”

 

And there still was food left, and they were all college students. Windblade lost her confused expression, accurately guessing that this was Starscream’s lab partner. She looked him up and down, her lips pursing in concern. “Is it raining?”

 

“Pouring,” Skyfire confirmed, looking down to see the puddle that was rapidly accruing around him. “Looks like it’s here for awhile, too.”

 

Windblade bit her lip, and Starscream zeroed in on the gesture. “What’s wrong?”

 

Thundercracker and Skyfire exchanged looks as she replied, “I biked here. If it’s pouring...and I have a class at 9AM tomorrow.”

 

“You can st--,” Skywarp started, drawn to the conversation.

 

Skyfire talked over him. “I have a car, I can drive you home. But if you’d like to go, it’s probably better to go now, while there’s still some measure of daylight. I don’t like driving in the dark while it’s pouring.”

 

“He’s _such_ an old man,” Starscream informed Windblade haughtily.

 

Skyfire rolled his eyes. “It’s seriously not a big. You’re Windblade, right?”

 

“Oh! Yes, I am. Nice to meet you, and yes, I think I’ll take you up on that. I can pick up my bike tomorrow and just take the shuttle in.”

 

“We can load it into my car, it’s got a large trunk.”

 

“That’s what she said!” Skywarp said triumphantly.

 

They all ignored him as Skyfire offered a sopping hand to Windblade. “I’m Skyfire, as Starscream said.”

 

She took his hand carefully. “Um, Starscream, I’ll see you Tuesday.”

 

“Obviously,” Starscream sniffed, eyes on Thundercracker. They were going to have _words_.

 

Windblade pulled her stuff together and left with Skyfire, who made a face at Starscream before exiting. “Thundercracker,” Starscream gritted out. “We need to _discuss_ matters.”

 

Thundercracker was already getting down the bag and leash. “C’mere girl! We can talk while we walk Buster.”

 

“Um, TC, it’s kind of fucking _raining_.”

 

“And, _Skywarp_ , there’s a covered dog path not too far from this building, and I haven’t taken her out since this morning. Unless you want the smell of dog shit here, I’d better take her out.”

 

Skywarp and Starscream pulled the same face at the thought of dog shit in the apartment, and Starscream sulked as he went to pull on a jacket. Still, it was probably better to have that conversation without Skywarp around. Thundercracker would probably pry the whole sorry story out of him, and there were parts of it that Starscream devoutly did _not_ want Skywarp to hear about.

 

“So, out with it,” Thundercracker nudged Buster into the bag with barely any work. “Your anger, all of it. Go.”

 

“You wanted Skyfire over to, what, meet her? I’m sure it would have happened eventually.”

 

“You were downright civil to her. I wasn’t sure if you were all right.”

 

“ _Thundercracker_ ,” he hissed as they ducked into a half-hallway to avoid Prowl on patrol.

 

“You were,” Thundercracker insisted after the perpetually scowling RA had passed. “I mean, I know me and Skywarp aren’t as close to you as Skyfire is, so we didn’t want our reading of that to be wrong. He confirmed.”

 

“I was not being civil! I was being myself!”

 

“Please. You’re not civil.”

 

“Okay, maybe not, but so what? I have to work with her for the rest of the semester.”

 

“Maybe I could accept that if you hadn’t been sending off major creeper vibes when you saw her. Why were you hovering? You never hover.” The only time he’d even been close to hovering was that short time Screamer and Skyfire had been dating, but admittedly Starscream acted differently around women than men.

 

“I was not _hovering_.”

 

Thundercracker waved a hand as he knelt to let Buster out. The dog hopped out of the bag delicately and went to go examine a small plant off the sidewalk. “Fine, you weren’t hovering, but you were concerned. Why?”

 

Starscream frowned. “She told me last night that she only sleeps six hours a night.”

 

“That’s okay in small doses.”

 

“But she said she had to choose between work and sleep, and she chose work. TC, I think she’s only been sleeping 6 hours a night for over a year.”

 

“It’s amazing she hasn’t gotten sick,” Thundercracker told him, pulling slightly on Buster’s leash. She ambled off and they followed.

 

“She’s anemic.”

 

“Screamer. What spurred you to drunk-dial her last night after you’d already gone home with someone?”

 

“I really wish you’d stop calling me that--.”

 

“Starscream.”

 

“I, um, went home with someone.”

 

“And...”

 

“I had done my usual, you know, cunnilingus, and then when we moved onto to tab a into slot b,” Thundercracker would be perpetually amused that Starscream was so shameless, but whenever he was embarrassed, he immediately lowered his voice and went into euphemisms that would make white Southern Baptists proud. “I realized quickly that I was not, um, going to finish.”

 

“Jesus fucking Christ, you always finish, even when your partner is terrible.”

 

“I didn’t.”

 

“So what did you do?”

 

Starscream looked wretched. “I faked it. She was already two orgasms past, so when I said I wanted to go to the bathroom, she didn’t think more of it. I wasn’t even able to finish there, but I went back to Maccadam’s and had a few drinks.”

 

“What was wrong?”

 

“I looked down at her and realized she wasn’t Windblade. Once that happened, I knew I wouldn’t be finishing.” Starscream peeked up at Thundercracker. “Are you going to laugh at me?”

 

“No,” Thundercracker shrugged. “This was the first time you’ve had sex all semester--.”

 

“You don’t know that!”

 

“Yeah, I kinda do. When you’re faking sex, your voice doesn’t go as high-pitched when you finish as when you have a partner. But anyway, first time you’re having sex all semester, when for the last year or so, you’ve had at least one partner a week. Windblade’s been the only girl you’ve been around, so it’s not that surprising your sex drive is fixated on her.”

 

“So, what, should I fuck her?” Starscream demanded.

 

“No! _God_ , no. She doesn’t even want you touching her. I bet if you get back into your usual habit, it’ll go away. Might take a partner or two, but I bet it’ll pass.”

 

“I hope you’re right.”

 

“I think I am,” Thundercracker said firmly, hoping he was.

 

\--

 

Windblade sneaked a glance at Skyfire. “Thanks for driving me home.”

 

“I promise, it’s not a big deal,” Skyfire said warmly. “Besides, Starscream’s been complaining about you, so it was probably time to meet you anyway.”

 

“Complaining? Has it been petty complaints, or genuine ones?”

 

“So you _do_ know him,” he winked at her. “A mixture of both. Keep on doing what you’re doing.”

 

“You’re the reason he apologized to me, aren’t you? About what happened in August?”

 

“I’m sure he would’ve gotten there eventually.”

 

“Do you really believe that?”

 

Skyfire sighed. “I have to.”

 

“Why are you friends with him? He’s an ass.”

 

“Oh, trust me, I’ll never argue with you on that, but you catch him at the right moment—like when the moon is full or whatever—and he can be sweet. We dated, briefly, before I realized he was too high-maintenance for me to be comfortable with. He’s normally the type to be shrewish when dumped, but he valued my friendship enough to keep working with me after we broke up.”

 

She looked outside the window. “It doesn’t seem like enough.”

 

“Maybe not, but once he decides you’re his person, he’ll fight for you through hell and high water. He might frustrate and anger me, but I’ve never doubted he’s on my side. Where am I turning?”

 

“Up here, on the right. Then you’re going to go down for four blocks.”

 

They spent the next ten minutes in silence, though Skyfire’s frown deepened. “Windblade, what neighborhood do you live in?”

 

She slunk down in her seat a little. “Ummm.”

 

“I don’t think that--.”

 

“Turn here,” she interrupted. “My house is the blue one.”

 

Skyfire pulled over. “Windblade--.”

 

“Thanks for driving me home,” she said hurriedly, pulling her stuff together. “Can you pop the trunk?”

 

Skyfire put the car in park and darted out to open the trunk. Windblade winced at the rain but she took her bike from Skyfire. “Have a good night!” she called, rushing up the sidewalk to the small porch. She waved to Skyfire, who waved back with a frown. She let the bike rest against the wall while she searched for her keys, and when she found the right key, she waved at Skyfire again before entering her house.

 

It seemed like a bread kind of night, and she put out a stick of butter to soften.  Chromia was asleep on the couch, her phone against her chest. Windblade picked up her phone and plugged it into the charger before she hunted down a blanket. Her roommate duties done, she took her language notes from her room along with her laptop and set up at the kitchen table. In between making bread, she could finish that one paper for Thai.

 

\--

 

Windblade sipped from her thermos as she waited for the class to file in. The rain hadn’t abated—fall in this area meant heavy rains as the weather chilled, and while it meant that the semester was closer to the end, it also meant midterms were upon them. She had her language midterms the following week, and Professor Magnus had implied he would give them a verbal midterm.

 

Either way, her stress levels were through the roof, and it was only the second week of October.

 

Starscream seated himself heavily next to her, and he pushed a wrapped package toward her. “Here. Thundercracker sends his regards.”

 

She raised her eyebrows at him as she took the package. “Tell him thanks for me.” She unwrapped the tinfoil and the wax paper to see it was a sandwich—in particular, a roast beef sandwich with slices of mozzarella. She took a quick bite while Starscream unwrapped his own sandwich.

 

“So TC’s planning on throwing a shindig next Sunday night, to celebrate the end of midterms and the day off from class the next day. You should go.”

 

“Are you going?”

 

“Me? Hell no. TC’s friends don’t like me, and Skyfire and me are packing up his car to go stargazing.”

 

“I’ll think about it,” she said, rubbing her fingertips over the wax paper to get rid of the crumbs. “I mean, since you won’t be there.”

 

He nudged her with the point of his elbow. “ _Windblade_.”

 

“What?” she asked innocently, balling up the waste. “They seem so much more charming than you.”

 

He rolled his eyes at her as she passed, and he undid the strings of her sweater as she passed. She glared at him, but her hands were full. She rolled her shoulders to help keep her sweater on, and as soon as she had thrown her trash away, she retied her sweater with poisonous looks at Starscream. Prowl, the only other person currently in the room, ignored them.

 

“That was unnecessary.”

 

“Your _face_ is unnecessary.”

 

“How could I have forgotten your sparkling wit?” she grumbled, inching past him. He was being a dick and refusing to move, and she pulled her skirt closer to herself to keep it from getting snagged on his chair. That _would_ be embarrassing.

 

Starscream’s eyes were on a level with her ass, and he lifted a hand slightly before remembering _who_ this was and he quite firmly wrapped his fingers around the edge of his chair while she fumbled past him to her own seat.

 

“Why do you wear skirts all the time, anyway? Doesn’t it get in the way?” He leaned back in his chair while she perched on the edge of hers.

 

She eyed him. “I happen to like them.”

 

“They’re not exactly practical.”

 

“Practical enough for me.”

 

“I’ve seen you wear pants,” he argued.

 

“Only at work. I like skirts, and that’s the end of it.”

 

He rolled his eyes but let the subject drop. The rest of the class filed in as she finished her tea and worked on her language notes. Starscream was working on something on his own, but she felt his eyes on her every so often.

 

At least it wasn’t as creepy as Sunday had been.

 

Professor Magnus gave them a relatively easy day, as they were working on memorization, and he released them just a little early to go study. Windblade smothered a yawn as she stood up; she had no time to catch a nap that afternoon, and it would mess up her sleep schedule. “What’s the rest of your afternoon look like?” Starscream demanded. “We didn’t get as much work done on Sunday as we should’ve.”

 

“Weather is what it is,” she said dryly. “I’m so sorry it got in the way.”

 

“You’re such a mouthy bitch,” he grumbled as he pulled on his jacket. “Library?”

 

“If I was a pettier person, I’d refuse on the basis that you called me a bitch,” she observed as she donned her light rain jacket.

 

“But you’re not that petty.”

 

She tapped her chin. “Hm. I think I am today.”

 

“Aw, c’mon Windblade--.”

 

“Negative behavior is not to be reinforced,” she said primly. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”

 

He rolled his eyes and caught her elbow. “ _Windblade_.”

 

“Let go of me,” she said sharply. “ _Now_ , Starscream.”

 

“Ugh, fine, be petty. Bitch.”

 

She smiled sickly-sweet at him. “Byeeeee,” she sang. “Oh, and good luck working with me on Thursday, too.”

 

“Why are you so--.”

 

Purely to see the look on his face, she leaned forward on the tip of her toes and brushed her lips against his cheek dryly. He closed his mouth with an audible snap, his eyes wide, and she told him, “ _Don’t_ call me a bitch again, mmkay?”

 

He nodded, and she patted his cheek. “Good boy. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

 

“Okay.”

 

She smiled as she left. If that was all it took to throw him off guard, she might have to do it more often.

 

As soon as she’d cleared the door, Starscream found his voice. “ _What_ in the _fuck?!”_

 

\--

 

He swallowed hard as Windblade straddled his hips. She was in a bra and skirt—that awful red skirt that matched her favorite lipstick. The skirt had ridden up to her hips, and he could see her garters and stockings. “Cat got your tongue?” she purred, smirking slightly.

 

Her hair was down, but it wasn’t covering her bra, and he wasn’t sure if he was grateful for that or not. Her bra was black with red accents, and there were small rhinestones embedded in the embroidery. They winked at him in the half-light.

 

“N-no,” he stuttered. She was repositioning herself, and his cock was becoming very interested in the movements of her hips. “Just wishing I could _touch_ you.”

 

She sat fully upright and let her index finger rest against her bottom lip. Her red lipstick was bright against the paleness of her skin, and he swallowed hard. “You _did_ call me a bitch,” she reminded him. “It’s only fair that I get what I want from you.”

 

He pulled his wrists ineffectively. He’d been tied to the headboard. “But I didn’t _mean_ it,” he whined. “I just...tend to rely on insults when I’m frustrated and you’re so frustrating!”

 

She smirked. “Let’s see if I can be _more_ frustrating.” She shimmied down his legs, treating him to the downward view of her breasts, and his cock throbbed. She opened his jeans with deft fingers and pushed them down his thighs, scraping her nails against his skin as she moved her hands back up to his cock, which was _beyond_ stiff. “It doesn’t take a lot to get you going, apparently.”

 

“You don’t get how your lipstick works,” he gasped, his back arching as she squeezed the base of his dick.

 

“Hm. Maybe I can.” She tapped his stomach to make him meet her eyes, and when he did, she kissed the tip of his cock—and _damn_ that red lipstick. Her tongue traced his slit, and he clenched his hands against the headboard.

 

She leaned down as she took the tip of his cock into her mouth, and he swore loudly as she sucked hard, her cheeks hollowing. His hips shuddered, and she pulled off him with a wet _plop_. “Do that again and we’re done,” she said.

 

He shook his head wildly, and she smiled at him. “Good boy,” she crooned, and then she was kissing him again, and taking the head of his cock into her mouth again, but she wasn’t stopping there.

 

His eyes nearly rolled back into his head when his cock hit the back of her throat, and then—while his gaze was desperately locked with hers’—she smiled as well as she could with her mouth bulging like that, and then she bit down.

 

Starscream woke up with a start as Buster growled at his dick and bit down harder. “THUNDERCRACKER _I WILL KILL YOUR FUCKING DOG JUST YOU WAIT AND SEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!”_

 

\--

 

Starscream ordered another drink morosely. Three days since Buster had woken him up the—way she did, and Windblade had barely acknowledged his presence in class before studying almost perfunctorily with him after. She hadn’t let him touch her, and his other classes were piling on the work in preparation for midterms.

 

And he really, _really_ needed to get laid. Self care was only gonna get him so far.

 

So here he was at Maccadam’s. TC had his girlfriend over, and Skywarp had _his_ girlfriend over, and it was almost 100% certain that it would end in a pile of naked limbs, but he was barred from their orgies ever since he’d said something cutting in the heat of the moment.

 

That was two girlfriends ago for TC, but he never forgot anything that he could rub in Starscream’s face later.

 

“Hi,” a girl said, just a little awkwardly. He glanced over at her, and she held what looked like a cherry martini in two hands. “Mind if I join you?”

 

“Not at all,” he downed the rest of his vodka and tonic and gestured to the seat next to him. “I’m not good company, though.”

 

“Don’t have to be good company.”

 

He looked at her as she sat down. “What’s your name?”

 

“Velocity,” she said, stirring her martini. “You?”

 

“Starscream. Let me guess, you want to have sex?”

 

“I’d like to finish my drink,” she said pointedly, “but possibly yes.”

 

“You’re a person who has their priorities in line. I like that. Major?”

 

“1st year resident at the university hospital, actually.”

 

“Ooh, an older woman.”

 

“Just slightly. I went to the medical school here.”

 

“Congratulations,” he said, and mostly meant it. “Specialty?”

 

“Not sure yet, but I’m thinking gynecology.”

 

“Ah, the wondrous branch of medicine where you get to look at vulvas all day.”

 

“Yes,” she agreed, and _oh_ , he liked it when a woman sparred with him. “Far preferable to looking at dicks all day. They typically tend to be cleaner.”

 

“I wouldn’t know _anything_ about that,” he demurred, taking a sip of his new vodka and tonic.

 

“Well, that bodes well.”

 

“I’m glad you approve.”

 

There was a beat, and then she asked, “And you? What’s your major?”

 

“Astrophysics and political science. Because one major with tons of work _just wasn’t enough_.”

 

She laughed. “I was a bio and chemistry major. Trust me, I get it.”

 

His phone buzzed, and when he bypassed the lock screen, he saw Windblade had texted him to say that she was happy to meet with him the next day to study. Feeling a little lighter, he typed back a quick acknowledgement and turned back to Velocity. “You want to get out of here?”

 

She drained her cherry martini. “Oh _definitely_.”

 

Elsewhere, Windblade tapped her legal pad with her pen as she reread her notes for the fiftieth time. Her shift that night had run late—a group of professors had showed up twenty minutes from closing and demanded the kitchen reopen for them. Heatwave had nearly burst a blood vessel, but they got them their food.

 

Then they barely left any tips, and exhaustion pulled at Windblade’s limbs. Midterms were kicking her ass, and she needed to be ready for her exam on Monday.

 

Chromia padded into the kitchen. “You should get some rest,” she admonished as she put her mug in the sink. She filled it with warm water and soap and started to scrub, and Windblade hid a yawn behind her hand.

 

“I can sleep later tomorrow,” she said once the yawns passed. “I need to finish going over this and then I’ll head to bed.”

 

“You’re gonna get sick,” Chromia fussed.

 

“I take plenty of supplements,” Windblade fussed right back. “I’m doing all,” she yawned again, “right.”

 

“How much memorization do you think you’re actually doing in that state?”

 

“Not trying to memorize it,” Windblade turned the page. “Just trying to get my brain to associate the symbols right.”

 

Chromia rolled her eyes. “If you fall asleep at the table again, I’m not carrying you to bed.”

 

“Fine, fine.” She checked her phone out of habit, but there was nothing to check, and she stifled another yawn. “Just a little longer.”

 

“Nautica messaged me,” Chromia leaned against her chair and played idly with the end of her braid. Windblade wished she wouldn’t. Both Nautica and Chromia had learned _very_ early on that playing with her hair was a fast ticket to Snoozeville. “She’s coming home in a few weeks, in time for Thanksgiving.”

 

“Little earlier than anti-ticipated.”

 

“Her internship will be up. It’s a four month internship.”

 

“Still, she’ll be home,” Windblade stretched with a fond smile. “I’ll feel better once she’s back.”

 

“You and me _both_ ,” Chromia muttered.

 

“Need me to find someone’s couch for the night after she comes back?” Windblade teased, picking up her tea cup and taking it to the sink. The hot water on her hands would help wake her up.

 

“I—er—that is to say—um--.”

 

Windblade smiled tiredly at Chromia. “I’m sure I can find a bed for the night. Blurr keeps making eyes at me.”

 

“He’d have no stamina,” Chromia warned.

 

“Oh, I’m not expecting him to be the best lay in the universe, but you know, it’s been a while.” Windblade cleared her throat and decided to blame her exhaustion for her Nautica-like oversharing. “And toys just aren’t enough.”

 

“Right, because being treated like a human Fleshlight is the best choice,” Chromia observed. “Wasn’t that your last objection to having sex with a dick owner?”

 

“Yeah, but sex with a vagina owner just got awkward after a while,” Windblade frowned at the dishrack. “My hands get tired.”

 

“Speaking as someone who prefers vagina owners,” Chromia cleared her throat pointedly.

 

“Oh, the orgasm was great,” Windblade shrugged as she placed her tea cup on the rack without disturbing the rest of the dishes. “But the build up was, um, yeah.”

 

“Just means you need more practice.”

 

“Hm, fair, but I don’t like spending an hour or more trying to get to the finish line. I don’t have _time_ for prolonged sexcapades.”

 

Chromia snorted. “I love how _that’s_ your reasoning.”

 

“You exp-pected something else?” Windblade hid another yawn behind her hand as she came back to the table. “Move.”

 

“Yeah, no, you’re stuttering and your eyes are narrowed. I’m using the Executive Roommate Privilege Card and telling you to go to bed.”

 

“That’s supposed to be for chores,” Windblade complained.

 

“It’s a pretty broad definition, so.” Chromia shoved at her shoulder. “Bed. I mean it.”

 

“Fiiiinnnneeeeee,” Windblade yawned. “But only ‘cause you insist.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a coworker who, around the holidays and it's time for someone to staff the giftwrap desk at all times, really enjoys untying my apron. It's not harassment--most of the time it's a giggle when we desperately need it--but it can be an unsettling feeling. 
> 
> Also, imagine your otp: who has the friend-group-wide orgies, and who's banned from joining in?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay Nautica! Her face claim is [here](http://www4.pictures.zimbio.com/gi/Hana+Mae+Lee+_VCtotR7Hlrm.jpg).
> 
> Wheeljack's face claim is [here](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/55/Firass_Dirani_\(6902343663\).jpg).
> 
> Warnings for blood and alcohol.

**PART FOUR**

**_Then:_ **

**NOVEMBER**

 

Windblade adjusted her bag strap nervously as she made her way up to Starscream’s dorm. Midterms had been utterly nerve-racking, and while she wasn’t as introverted as Chromia was, the thought of walking into the room from which muffled music was issuing was...she was fighting the urge to turn and run.

 

_One hour_ , she reminded herself. _If you aren’t having fun in an hour, you can leave._

 

The door was slightly ajar, and she pushed it open. The lights were dim, but there weren’t any strobe lights, thank god. It also wasn’t as populated as she’d been fearing—maybe fifteen people at most. Thundercracker broke away from a knot of people when he saw her, and she pinned a smile on her face as he approached.

 

Her stomach twisted when he kissed her cheek, and he said in her ear, “Thanks for coming! I wasn’t sure if Screamer was telling the truth about passing on the invitation.”

 

“What’s a better way to get rid of the remaining stress?” she tried to put a giggle in her voice, but she was pretty sure she failed. Her tongue felt just a little too thick in her mouth, and her palms were sweaty.

 

She was fairly sure that if she was better rested, she wouldn’t feel so ill surrounded by strangers, but she hadn’t been _fully_ rested for years. Thundercracker, thankfully, wasn’t picking up on it, and he beamed at her. “I know, right? Let’s get you something to drink. We’ve got different kinds of vodka, beer—someone even brought over a bottle of wine—so what would you like?”

 

“Um, maybe some vodka?”

 

“Excellent choice, it’s Skyy.”

 

“...right.” She didn’t drink very much—she needed to be in the right mood, and tonight was _not_ it. Two shots would render her unable to bike home, and she couldn’t afford the cab home. “In juice?”

 

“Oh, of course.” Thundercracker nudged her. “Wait here.”

 

Where was she going to go? Over by the desks, Skywarp was apparently slaughtering the competition at beer pong, but he was the only person she recognized. Everyone else had the faint air of those who partied hard because they worked hard, and she was removed from that. She worked hard, but she never had the _time_ to party hard, let alone anyone to comfortably party that hard around.

 

She thought about hooch briefly, but dismissed it. Hooch was  _different_.

 

Thundercracker popped back up next to her, a red cup in one of his hands. She took it with a smile, and she sipped it. She winced slightly at the alcohol content—it was stronger than she’d fix herself on this kind of night. “So, this is a nice party,” she said awkwardly.

 

“Oh yeah. My engineering study group can really pull a party together.” Thundercracker looked proud of himself. “We’re about to start a game of Ring of Fire, you wanna join in?”

 

Windblade weighed her options—Ring of Fire or beer pong. Either way, she would need help getting home, and Chromia was on assignment for the next two nights and couldn’t come and get her. “Sure, why not.” There were no good choices, and she genuinely wanted to be there; at least, she thought she did.

 

Thundercracker beamed. “Great!”

 

Her answering smile was more genuine than her earlier smile, but she was still a little shaky. Great, engineering majors—she will definitely have things to talk about.

 

Thundercracker left her by someone while he went over to discuss something with Skywarp, and the guy she was sitting next offered his hand. “Thundercracker has a tendency to do that,” he said. “I’m Wheeljack.”

 

She took his hand and noted the calluses. “Windblade. You’re an engineering student too?”

 

“Experimental engineering. What’s your major?” He frowned thoughtfully. “Aeronautic engineering?”

 

She laughed once. “No, languages and international relations.”

 

“Oh, that makes sense. You don’t have the same look the rest of us do.”

 

She stiffened slightly. “What does that mean?”

 

He pointed to her hair. “Your hair’s actually neat. The rest of us don’t have that because we’re constantly tearing at it.”

 

She relaxed with a slight giggle. “Oh. There’s more hair-pulling than you’d think in either of my majors.”

 

“At least nothing explodes,” Wheeljack said. “Though TC over there would be the first one to tell you it’s my fault if something explodes.”

 

“Is he right?”

 

“...maybe.”

 

Wheeljack helped ease her enough that she mostly enjoyed playing Ring of Fire (though she still had to take two shots over the course of the game), and by the end of the night, she admitted to herself she’d had a good time despite expectations.

 

“You sure you can get home okay?” Thundercracker asked with concern as she looped her purse strap over her shoulder. “No offense, Windblade, but you’re shaking a little.”

 

“Little cold, side-effect of whenever I have too much to drink,” she assured him. “Plus, the temperature’s cold in the hallway. I promise, I’m fine.”

 

“I can call you a cab,” Thundercracker offered. “Or you can stay the night.”

 

She blanched slightly at the thought. “No! I mean, I’m okay.”

 

“Windddddyyyyyyy,” Skywarp slurred slightly as he leaned against Thundercracker’s shoulder, who rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. “You can stay. Screamer won’t be home for, like, another few hours, and his bed’s free.”

 

The idea of Starscream’s reaction to coming home and finding her asleep in his bed was enough to make her stomach roil. “I don’t want to spend the next few days soothing his temper,” she said flatly. “Really. I’m going home now.”

 

Skywarp and Thundercracker exchanged looks, but she turned to open the door. “Bitch--,” Thundercracker started, but it was too late. The cat was already tangled around her ankles, and that combined with her slight clumsiness caused her to start to fall.

 

A starburst of pain erupted on her temple as someone’s hand wrapped around her arm to keep her from hitting the ground entirely.

 

She winced as they pulled her upright, and she heard, “ _Shit,_ TC, that’s a fuckton of blood.”

 

“Get a towel,” Thundercracker ordered. “Windblade, can you open your eyes?”

 

She opened them just a little, but even the micro-expression was enough to make pain ring through her skull and she closed them again. She heard Skywarp slide to a stop, and then a roughly textured cloth was being held against the worst of the pain. She hissed at the pressure, and it lightened. “We need to get you to a hospital,” Thundercracker told her. “This is too much blood.”

 

“Head wounds,” she whimpered.

 

“You also hit your temple, there’s no way I’m risking you dying.” Thundercracker’s hand slid from her arm to around her shoulders. “I’m sober enough to drive, we’ll take you.”

 

“I’ll get the keys.”

 

“Should I call your roommate?” Thundercracker asked, steering her past the door and into the hallway.

 

“She’s on assignment for the next two nights,” she had to focus to get the words out. That wasn’t a good sign. “S’not serious enough.”

 

“Thundercracker!”

 

She whimpered at the loud voice, and Thundercracker tensed. “Prowl,” he said neutrally. “Can I help you?”

 

“Where are you taking her?”

 

“The hospital.”

 

“What’s wrong?” There were hands on her shoulder, and she flinched away. _Don’t touch me_.

 

“Head injury,” Thundercracker’s voice was clipped. “Do you _really_ need to be touching that? She’s bleeding all over the place.”

 

Prowl stepped back. “Ah. Should I call campus security?”

 

“No need, we have it.”

 

“Got the keys, TCccc—oh hi Prowl.”

 

“He’s not driving?”

 

“Of course not. Now, do you mind moving? I’d prefer not to have her bleed out here.”

 

Windblade wasn’t even fully aware of how badly she was shaking. “Carry on,” Prowl said, and Thundercracker hurried her to the elevator.

 

Around the time it took to drive to the hospital, the pain had subsided enough that she felt comfortable opening her eyes. Thundercracker’s face was set—he’d passed the towel off to her once they were in the car—but he seemed absolutely calm. “Not the worst injury I’ve ever had,” she told him as he parked.

 

“What?”

 

“Last time I got injured at work, I fell onto a fallen tray of glasses and dishes. My sides got all cut up. This is not as bad.”

 

Thundercracker’s lips tightened, but he didn’t seem angry at _her_. “You shouldn’t be getting those kind of injuries in your work environment,” he grumbled.

 

“It was an accident. Things happen.” She pushed the door open, and Skywarp was already on the other side to help her out. She clutched at his hand as her balance wobbled, and she was dimly aware that he had his other hand on the small of her back. “This is just making the slight tipsiness worse,” she admitted once she could stand up straight.

 

Skywarp squeezed her hand. “What’s your blood type?”

 

“AB negative,” she said, tilting her head to better see the door. 

 

“That’s good,” Thundercracker appeared on her other side. “You can take any blood donation.”

 

“Yeah,” she exhaled. The inside of the waiting room was noisy, but it was the cheerful noisy of a place busy, not the unhappy noisy of an emergency room filled to the brim with lots of waiting. Skywarp waited by her as Thundercracker went up to the nurse at the reception. They spoke quietly and then Thundercracker returned. “Exam Room 4’s available.”

 

“Okay,” Windblade moved with him. The pain came in waves, but she had a handle on it. The nurse led her to the exam room and then took down her information.

 

Thundercracker and Skywarp remained standing, and she heard Skywarp mutter, “He’s on his way. He’s pissed, too.”

 

“You tell him it was his cat’s fault?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“The cat just made me trip, it was an accident,” she protested. “And technically he did what you wanted.”

 

The nurse paused in taking notes. “What was that?”

 

“Thundercracker didn’t want me to go home alone when I’d had a few drinks,” Windblade glanced at Thundercracker, who was slightly taken aback. “You got your wish. Technically.”

 

“Cats,” the nurse said wisely. “All right, the resident will be here shortly.”

 

“Why’d you contact Starscream, anyway?” Windblade wanted to know as she put the towel back against her forehead. It was going to be absolutely ruined with bloodstains by the time the resident came back. “I honestly don’t think he’d care.”

 

“You think someone gets injured in our dorm and our other roommate doesn’t hear about it?” Skywarp inquired, and Windblade’s eyes tracked over to him. “If only to explain the blood on the floor.”

 

“Was I bleeding that much?”

 

“We didn’t exactly check but just in case,” Thundercracker checked his phone again. “Besides, he does actually like you. Even if he’s a jackhole most of the time.”

 

She wrinkled her nose. “I—really doubt that.” The door opened and she brightened. “Lotty!”

 

“Heya Windblade,” Velocity said with a small smile. “Good grief, girl, what did you do to yourself this time?”

 

She pouted slightly and then winced at the pain. “I tripped over a cat.”

 

“And faceplanted into a doorknob,” Skywarp added.

 

“Pull the towel away? Oh, _ouch_. Okay, so first I need to clean it so I can see what exactly I’m dealing with, and then we can figure out a treatment plan from there, okay?”

 

“Excuse me,” Thundercracker said quickly. He left the room quickly, and Windblade looked at Skywarp.

 

“What’s his deal?”

 

“Nothing,” Skywarp shrugged, leaning back against his chair. “Hey, you need a hand to hold?” He waggled his fingers at her.

 

She opened her mouth to say no, and then Lotty touched the wound with the alcohol-soaked rag, and she shrieked. Lotty pulled away immediately, and Windblade grabbed Skywarp’s hand. “Go ahead,” she gritted. “I know it needs to happen.”

 

She bit her lip as Lotty started to clean the cut, and Skywarp, to his credit, didn’t complain as her hand clenched around his. The door opened behind Lotty, and Windblade saw Thundercracker, Starscream, and Skyfire beyond it. She didn’t dare open her mouth to greet them—she didn’t want a repeat of her yelling.

 

Starscream’s mouth thinned as he took a look at her injury, and he turned on Thundercracker. Their argument was done in whispers, and she couldn’t concentrate enough to see if she could pick up on anything.

 

“Okay, so the cut looks pretty superficial,” Lotty said after a while. “It’s gonna need stitches, but maybe four, five at most. Probably more like three. You’re lucky,” she flicked the tip of Windblade’s nose, and Windblade giggled once, “it could have been a _lot_ worse. I need to get a suture kit and some local anesthetic, but I’ll be back.”

 

“Mmkay,” Windblade pried her hand out of Skywarp’s, and he gasped theatrically and shook feeling back into it.

 

“How do you know Velocity?” Skywarp asked, but he wasn’t looking at her, but at Starscream, who shifted a little.

 

“We grew up in the same town,” Windblade patted down her purse to find her mirror.

 

“Probably don’t want to look at it right now,” Skyfire sounded tired, but not in a negative way. “It looks worse than it is.”

 

“What town was that?” Skywarp bounced slightly.

 

“Caminus. Nautica—my other roommate—grew up there too, a few houses down from mine.”

 

“Caminus—doesn’t it have some kind of nationally ranked seminary there or something?” Skyfire was checking his phone. “Solus’ Forge or something?”

 

“The Forge of Solus, and yes. My mother runs it.”

 

Lotty re-entered the room. “Yeah, I think it’ll be three stitches,” she examined the cut more fully. “Next time, try to avoid hitting doorknobs with your face, okay? I don’t like stitching you up.”

 

“It’s not like I planned it,” she grumbled.

 

“And it doesn’t appear that you have a concussion, either, which is _also_ good,” Lotty focused on the needle, “but you should probably not sleep tonight just in case. Or have one of your boys here stay overnight with you just in case.”

 

“That’s really not necessary,” Windblade began.

 

“I’ll do it,” Starscream yawned. “I need to catalogue data anyway.”

 

“I can do it,” Skyfire started.

 

“You practically fell asleep on the drive back,” Starscream’s voice was spiteful, “so no, I don’t want to have to tell your internet significant other that you got into an accident because you were too tired to drive.”

 

“S’okay, Skyfire, I can drive you home,” Thundercracker told Skyfire. “Besides, it’s probably for the best. All of us have had something to drink, and it’s going to hit Skywarp soon.”

 

"As if it hasn't already," Skywarp sniggered.

 

“What happens if I do fall asleep?” Windblade disregarded the bickering to look back at her doctor.

 

Lotty shrugged. “Don’t sleep for very long. The anemia combined with the blood loss means you’ll hit that wall of exhaustion pretty soon, but you really shouldn’t sleep longer than an hour or two at a time. I don’t think you have a concussion—you don’t show any of the clinical signs—but just to be on the safe side.”

 

“Is it gonna scar?” Windblade’s voice was quieter, and Lotty squeezed her shoulder.

 

“Yeah, but it should be pretty faint. The blood made it look worse than it actually was. Want me to call up Chromia?”

 

“No, she needs to remain focused on the job. It’s just a cut, right? I’ll be fine.”

 

“You want me to call your mom?”

 

“No! I mean, that’s really not necessary. I’ll talk to her tomorrow, anyway.”

 

“Okay. Just, she’s your mom. You know she worries.”

 

“Yeah, I know.” Windblade held still as Lotty finished up the last of the sutures. “Let me bandage it up and then you’re good to go. You remember the rules about bathing, right?”

 

“Yeah, don’t let water get into it, and I can use that extra strong surgical tape to bandage it while I’m in the shower.”

 

“Good.” Lotty threw out the remnants of the kit. “I need to sign you out, but other than that, you’re good to go, okay?”

 

Windblade found her compact as Lotty left the room, and she examined the cut carefully. It was small and diagonal, and it started at her hairline and ended halfway down her temple. When she had to go to work, she could do her hair to hide the bandage.

 

She went over her savings account in her head and hoped for the best. Her insurance should mostly cover it, right? _Hopefully_. Hospital visits were expensive and she didn’t have a lot to spare.

 

“What are you worrying about?” Starscream’s face was closer to hers than she’d ever thought possible.

 

“Hospital bill,” she snapped her compact shut.

 

“I’ll take care of it,” Starscream’s face twisted slightly. “Since it _was_ my cat. Bitch.”

 

She almost smiled, but something else grabbed her attention. “How do you have the money to pay for all of this?”

 

Starscream’s gaze turned assessing, and behind him, Skyfire cleared his throat. “Trust fund. That’s the basics of it.”

 

“Oh. Really, I can pay for it--.”

 

“Calm down,” Starscream sneered. He _was_ in a mood. “Get your stuff together. Skyfire, gimme your keys.”

 

She shied away from him. “No.”

 

He blinked. “What?”

 

“You’re being an asshole,” she said flatly. “I don’t want to deal with a head injury and you being an asshole.”

 

Thundercracker snorted.

 

Starscream closed his eyes in the universal ‘ _oh please uncaring god give me some patience_ ’ gesture before he looked back at her. “Get your things together. I’m not going to be an asshole to you.”

 

She frowned at him. “I don’t believe you.”

 

“Can you stand?” He waited until she pushed herself to her feet, and Lotty was right—the combination of blood loss and anemia made her wobble. Starscream stabilized her, and she leaned onto him a little longer than she should have. “All right. I’m getting you back to your house.”

 

“I don’t think you’re listening to me.”

 

“I understand your objections,” Starscream’s voice could have peeled paint, “but I can assure you I have no greater interest than sitting at your table and cataloguing astronomic data. Plus,” his voice deepened into something that was almost comforting, “you can’t really stand up on your own right now. Is there a wheelchair?”

 

“I’ve got it. Windblade, I’ll need you to sign a few forms after you sit.” Lotty’s voice made her flinch slightly at the suddenness of the interruption.

 

Starscream steered her to the wheelchair, and she sat down with an ‘oomph!’ There was a pen in her hand and a clipboard of forms, and she read through them quickly as Thundercracker made notes on his phone. She smiled back up at Velocity as she handed back the clipboard. “All done!”

 

Velocity was eyeing Starscream with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, and Starscream looked a little awkward. “Have a good night,” Velocity told her. “Come back in a week and I’ll take those stitches out.”

 

Starscream wheeled her out, and Velocity checked through the paperwork. “Starscream wants the bills sent to him,” Thundercracker informed her as he rooted through his pockets for a piece of paper. She handed him one. “Also, if you don’t mind me asking—you seemed really amused at him for whatever reason.”

 

“Oh, he and I slept together a few weeks ago.”

 

“And...?”

 

“He shouted _Windblade’s_ name when he finished.” Velocity's voice held  _legions_ of mirth.

 

Thundercracker stilled. “You’re joking.”

 

“I’m not. I was a little offended at first—we look nothing alike—but I know her, and I didn’t think she knew about it. Her behavior around him tonight sealed it. She doesn’t know about the raging—well, you know—he has for her.”

 

Thundercracker looked unhappy. “He told me he was trying to get it out of his system.”

 

“What, his attraction to her? _Pretty_ sure that’s not going away any time soon.”

 

He peered at her. “You’re not upset?”

 

“Please, I’m a first year resident, I do not have _time_ for actual relationships right now. And Windblade’s always been a bit oblivious. Whatever first impression he made for her has lasted.”

 

“He was a complete jackass to her.”

 

“Yeah, he seemed like the type. You sure he wants to pay her bills?”

 

“He’d get the ‘Made of Disappoint’ treatment otherwise.”

 

“Since it was his cat.”

 

“Since it was his cat,” Thundercracker agreed. “Thanks, Velocity.”

 

“You’re welcome, Thundercracker.”

 

Starscream was uncharacteristically helpful, opening the door and everything as she pushed herself out of the wheelchair and clutching onto the door for dear life as she levered herself into the seat of Skyfire’s car. He even closed the door gently.

 

She leaned her head against the cold window and tried to remember to stay awake. It wasn’t hard when Skyfire’s car was cold enough to have her breath mist over the window. “Good stargazing?” she mumbled in Starscream’s direction as he slid inside and turned the engine over.

 

“Some of the best.” He put the car into drive and left the parking lot. “We headed out into the country and got some fantastic readings.”

 

“What kind of readings?”

 

As Starscream rambled on about the stars and their position in the sky along with whatever telescopes he and Skyfire had, Windblade closed her eyes. Starscream was using the ‘not quite concerned’ voice, and it was more pleasing to the ear than his usual rasp.

 

She wasn’t aware she’d fallen asleep until the car came to a stop and he was shaking her awake. She batted at his hand before she came to full alertness, and he chuckled at her before exiting the vehicle.

 

“Should I carry you?” he asked as she tried to stand. She really needed something to eat before she went to bed, and she wondered what she had in the house that was quick. Maybe some cheese--? Cheese and crackers would work, crackers were carbs and would get processed quickly, and then the lactose would quickly get broken down into sugars.

 

Her world swung around suddenly and she blinked up at Starscream’s chin. “You’re carrying me,” she said faintly.

 

“Thundercracker and Skyfire would kill me if I got you home from the hospital, only to need to bring you back because you cracked your head on the front steps.”

 

That...made sense. “I need to get at my keys,” she fumbled for her bag, which was pinned between her and his chest.

 

His diaphragm jerked under her fingers, and she froze. “No...”

 

“No.”

 

“You’re not...”

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“You’re ticklish,” she breathed.

 

“I am not.”

 

She grinned and quested for his sides, and his lips twisted before he bit out, “Would you like me to drop you?”

 

She pouted and stopped, and he let her down carefully once he got the front door. He held onto her while she found her keys and unlocked the door, and he held the door open for her as she went inside.

 

She clutched onto the wall as she made her way to the kitchen, and she grabbed the cheese and crackers. Starscream placed his bag down and followed her into the kitchen, and he took the cheese from her when her hands were too shaky to hold a knife. “Do you need to take some kind of medication?”

 

“I take iron pills in the morning,” she said, frowning at the lack of cheese in front of her. “Where did—oh, you have it.”

 

“I’ve never seen you this out of it.”

 

“M’sleepy,” she yawned. “And blood loss is no laughing matter to someone who’s anemic.”

 

“Should you have gotten a blood transfusion?”

 

“I trust Lotty.” She yanked the plate away from him and toddled to the couch. “Why’d you come to the hospital?”

 

He trailed her, and she was a little grumpy. “Skyfire insisted.”

 

“Oh, so I should thank him the next time I see him.”

 

“Indeed.” He sat next to her on the couch and watched her stuff cheese crackers into her mouth with fascination. Once the plate was empty, she started to get up, but Starscream shook his head. “Worry about it tomorrow.”

 

She sighed. “Stop mom-ing me.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You’re doing the thing! My mother does the thing. ‘Are you sure your health is stable enough for you live so far from home? I can’t come and get you if something happens.’ It’s so _annoying_.”

 

“Do you have other health concerns than anemia and a few serious allergies?”

 

“I get sick easy, which is why I take supplements,” she sighed. His shoulder was super pointy. It poked against her cheek. “I was hospitalized in high school with pneumonia. Mother almost had kittens.”

 

“I see.” He was stroking her hair. Usually Chromia stroked her hair after something went wrong, and she resettled her face against his arm. “You should get some rest.”

 

“ _You_ should get some rest, you jerkface.”

 

He laughed. “Go to sleep.”

 

She made a face into his sleeve. He didn’t notice. “ _Rude_.”

 

“Always.”

 

\--

 

Skyfire’s eyes tracked Starscream as he stumbled across the room to the couch. To Skyfire’s experienced, clinical eye, Starscream was utterly exhausted. His feet dragged along the floor, and his shoulders slumped. Starscream was normally proud of being one of the tallest people in the room; his body only slumped forward when he was tired or despondent.

 

Starscream despondent was...a sight. Skyfire hoped that wasn’t the case.

 

Starscream flopped over the couch and tossed his arm over his eyes. This wasn’t the usual dramatics, and Skyfire remained poised on the edge of his chair. Starscream lacked patience; he would break sooner rather than later.

 

Finally, Starscream grumbled, “You’re not gonna give me the blanket?”

 

“I suppose I could.” Skyfire rose to retrieve the thick cotton blanket, and he draped it over Starscream carefully. “Are you going to tell me about it?”

 

“Nothing to tell,” Starscream pulled the blanket up and over his shoulders, hiding the lower portion of his face.

 

“Doubt that.”

 

“It’s not important.” Skyfire waited a beat—Starscream didn’t understand the meaning of circumspection—and then he tacked on, “Really. It’s not. She got some rest, I kept checking on her to make sure she didn’t, like, _die_ , because then my law class grade would officially be awful and by the time the sun came up she was out of the danger zone so I went home.”

 

“There’s something you’re not saying,” Skyfire twitched the covers over Starscream’s shoulders; he got cold a little too easily.

 

Starscream rumbled low in his throat before turning over and smashing his mouth against Skyfire’s. Skyfire waited—it stunk of desperation, and while he hadn’t had those feelings for Starscream in a long time, he knew it had taken longer for them to pass for Starscream.

 

Finally, Starscream pulled away, frustration evident in every line in his face. “That usually works,” he curled against the back of the couch, his brown eyes narrowed. “Whenever I’m getting too close to someone.”

 

Skyfire reviewed the times they had had ‘HELP WE’VE HIT A ROADBLOCK AND SLEEP ISN’T WORKING, LET’S TRY HARDCORE SEX’ sex, and he put the pieces together. Yes, that made sense. “You use me as a method of keeping other people at arm’s length?” He made sure his voice was absolutely neutral, but his stomach twisted. He knew his partner was manipulative, but after he’d caught Starscream trying to manipulate him after they’d first started working together, he’d lost his temper and Starscream hadn’t tried it since.

 

That he knew of.

 

“My feelings for you were realer than my feelings for anyone else,” Starscream muttered. “It’s just a test, and most people fail it.”

 

“But she’s not.”

 

“I don’t understand why! I don’t even _like_ her.”

 

Skyfire abruptly decided he didn’t want to have this conversation. It wasn’t up to him to persuade Starscream one way or the other; that was Starscream’s job and his alone. “Get some rest. You’ll feel better in any case.”

 

“Skyfireeeeeeeeee.”

 

“I’m not going to indulge your whining. Get some rest.”

 

“Fineeeeeeee. Bastard.”

 

“Asshole.”

 

“ _Ugh_.”

 

\--

 

Windblade frowned at her legal pad. Starscream’s chicken scratch covered most of it, and it seemed like he’d been determined to have three lines of notes in one line. She reached for the door handle as she tried to make sense of that one line— _what the hell does he mean by ‘archaic konami code’_ anyway—and she pulled the door open.

 

“Whoa! Careful.”

 

She jumped, dropping the legal pad. “Oh goodness, excuse me Professor.” She stooped to pick up her legal pad and looked up at the same time.

 

And looked up and up and _up_. Is this what jaeger pilots felt like when they looked up at their Jaegers?

 

He offered her a hand and she took it. “Windblade, right?” He gestured to her forehead, her stitches covered by her hair. “We’ve been hearing about your trip to the emergency room. Prime was concerned.”

 

She winced slightly and covered her eyes with her hand. “Oh _Solus_. You ask for one extension and everyone thinks you’re dying.”

 

He laughed. “I think it’s more that you’ve impressed Magnus with your work ethic and he would quite literally bend over backwards to help you out.”

 

“That doesn’t make it any better,” she bemoaned. “And I’m sorry for the door, sir.”

 

“It’s not a problem. Ah, is that Starscream’s deplorable handwriting?”

 

Sick of it, she offered him the legal pad. “Either I’m so tired the words are wavering on the page—which is always possible—or he’s bitching about the Konami code on my History of Law notes.”

 

The professor’s face twisted briefly, like he was holding back laughter, and he took the pad. “Well, you’re half right. He went off on a tangent on how the Konami code is so ingrained in certain subcultures that it is not entirely dissimilar to how historical subcultures adopted a law code from earlier eras.”

 

“And he chose the...I cannot _believe_ him.”

 

“Are you taking History of Law II?”

 

She blinked slightly. “Er, yes. I enjoy Professor Magnus’ lecture style.” Why he looked so satisfied, she wouldn’t understand. “It will fulfill one of my electives for International Relations.”

 

She felt like he was sizing her up, somehow, and it made her wish that she knew his identity. This exchange would be easier to navigate if she knew him. “It’s going to be a small class,” the professor said after a beat. “Fair warning.”

 

“That’s all right. Those are better learning environments for me, anyway. There’s more room for discussion.”

 

She was dimly aware that his eyes had slight sparks of red in them, and then his eyes softened and they disappeared. “I won’t keep you. I hope your stitches heal quickly.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

 

Her usual desk was empty, and she set up her notes and got to work. Professor Magnus had an extensive library but he didn’t like the books to leave the poli-sci department, and she could understand that.

 

She retrieved the necessary texts and got to work on her notes. She had the basics of an outline for her final paper, but she needed more information to fill it out. She lost herself in her research as she took advantage of the rare free day from her language classes, and she had been there for some hours when a bag plopped down next to her.

 

She jumped and just about fell out of her chair.

 

Her chair shook for a terrifying heartbeat before it steadied, and she glared at Starscream across the table. He’d settled into the opposite seat and he was smirking; apparently her near-fall was amusing. “Was that _really_ necessary?”

 

“I texted you, like, twice. Not my fault that you didn’t check your messages.”

 

She grumbled at him and checked her phone. Sure enough, there were two messages on it. ‘ _u still @ the poli-sci office?’_ and ‘ _if u don’t txt me back im getting u foodz’._ When she looked back up at him, he was unwrapping a take-out box of what looked like something from the spud place off campus. “That’s your threat? Don’t text me back and I’ll get you food?”

 

“More like ‘I’ll get you something and damn what you want,’ but I got bored.” He had two tall paper cups, and he slid one down to her, buoyed by its’ own condensation. She caught it, a touch warily.

 

“What is this?”

 

“Iced tea,” he yawned. “It’ll go with the hot food.”

 

She took the hint and unwrapped her own package. It was a heavy, dense meal—large chunks of beef, carrot, and onions suspended in a thick brown gravity over mashed potatoes, contained in a roasted potato skin. It wasn’t something she would have chosen for herself—Western-style cooking was always _so_ heavy and she felt bloated every time she had anything approaching a pot roast—but the temperature outside was cold and the gravy warm, and she could appreciate the thought, or what passed for it, in the gesture.

 

Starscream’s own was something more like what she would have ordered (though she wasn’t exactly a potato person): chicken seared with garlic and onion on top of creamy mashed potatoes. He was playing a game on his phone while he ate, and she studied him. There were creases around the corners of his eyes and mouth, and she wondered what he was so stressed over. His knuckles shone white from under his brown skin, and his hair was more wild than usual.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

He looked up from his game, thrown. “Excuse me?”

 

“Something’s wrong. You’re usually more arrogant than this.”

 

He shifted in his chair, his eyes turning calculative. She was used to that; his fingers tightened and loosened on his phone in waves as he thought of the perfect cutting comment. She braced herself for it—she was a little more tired than normal, but she could still fight him—and then he relaxed against the back of his chair. “Still catching up on sleep.”

 

That...wasn’t like him. “...really.”

 

“Well, you see, I spent my Sunday night babysitting a talkative child who’d made the mistake of deciding to introduce her forehead to a doorknob in a rather violent fashion, instead of--.” She threw a piece of carrot at him and it splattered against his cheek.

 

“No one _forced_ you to help,” she leaned back in her chair and picked up her dish as he wiped off the carrot and gravy with a napkin. “In fact, I think I argued against it.”

 

“You attempted to argue, operative word being ‘ _attempted_.’ You were too weak to put up an actual oppositional front.”

 

“See, there’s the arrogance I was foolish to think I’d _missed_. I do remember calling you an asshole and saying I had no interest in indulging it.”

 

He scowled and put down his dish. She ate neatly, not allowing single drops of gravy to escape and stain her shirt, and she watched him as he thought about what exactly to say. “You never thanked me for restraining myself.”

 

She rolled her eyes. She put down the mostly-empty dish (there were a few chunks of beef left that she couldn’t bring herself to touch) and stared him down over a table full of her notes and the remnants of—dinner? Lunch? Who cared?—and she said, “I don’t think it’s necessary to thank you for curbing the more detestable parts of your personality. Some things you do to get along with people and to be kind. If you require gratitude after kindness, it’s not true kindness, merely an exercise in self-absorption.” She wrapped up the leftovers of her meal and put it in her bag. While he was still thinking through the ramifications of her response, she snagged his garbage and turned to throw it out. “And thank you for the meal.”

 

The professor from before was standing beyond the doorway, and she stared. How long had he been--? He grinned and waggled his fingers at her, no, at _Starscream_ , before he vanished back into his office. He’d been carrying a coffee mug, so he hadn’t shown up just to eavesdrop on the two of them. She hoped.

 

When she turned back around to look at Starscream, his face had shuttered again and whatever crack she’d left in his armor had been closed up with grade-A duct tape, and she doubted she would ever see the crack again. She sipped her iced tea as she sat down, and she winced before thinking about it.

 

Starscream pounced, as she expected. “What’s wrong?”

 

“They oversteeped the tea,” she said, pulling a face before drinking more. She hadn’t had anything to drink since that morning, and she was dehydrated. “Black tea doesn’t have to be strong enough to take finishing off paint.”

 

“You’d be the expert.” Starscream picked up her notes. “What do you—this isn’t for our latest presentation.”

 

“No, it’s for the final essay.” She leaned forward to grab them back, but he held them away from her absently as his brow wrinkled and his lips twisted . There was a slight stain at the corner of his mouth—it was some mashed potato. She thrust a napkin at him but he didn’t understand what he needed it for.

 

“Why? It’s not due for another three weeks.”

 

“Because— _wipe your mouth_ —my friend is finally returning from her internship abroad and I want to be able to welcome her home instead of working on homework.”

 

“Third roommate friend?”

 

“Yes, her.” Windblade gave up her notes for the moment and stuck her nose back in one of the collections of case studies. “I need to be able to spend a day to cook all her favorites. She’s been surviving on granola bars and instant ramen, or so she’s been telling me, and I want to make something special for her.”

 

“So you’re...doing homework early.”

 

“Not just for this class.” He relinquished her notes at last, and she tucked them by her elbow as he picked up the other collection of case studies. “My language classes, too. She comes home Sunday, I can’t _wait_.”

 

“How long has she been gone?”

 

He was rarely this curious about her, and she glanced up at him. “Why do you care?”

 

“You don’t exactly look like you care for anyone except your roommates. Who are your friends, beyond them?”

 

She drew back, stung. “Excuse me?”

 

He put down the collection of case studies with the air of someone who had snapped a trap shut. “Think about it. You barely spend time with anyone except your roommates and me, and you only spend time with me because of class demands. Do you _have_ any real friends?”

 

Her mouth went dry. That was the payback for the kindness comment, she knew it. “I have my share. You don’t know my life, Starscream.”

 

“Really? You can say that to me?” His eyes glinted, and she had a brief thought that he would make a hell of a politician—or a lawyer. “Outside of your job, I think I’m the person you see most. So yeah, I think I know your life.”

 

That was the final straw. She closed her books with audible snaps. “You do not,” she said coldly. “You haven’t earned it yet. If you’ll excuse me, I have language homework.”

 

He let her go, and when she got home, she dialed her mother for the first time in six months. It wasn’t because he’d struck a nerve, she told herself as she waited for her mother to answer. It was because she’d made a promise to Lotty.

 

Her mother failed to pick up.

 

\--

 

He didn’t have a conscience. Not much of one, anyway. It had annoyed his mother and impressed his father, that the only times he showed true remorse (but _never_ repentance) were because he was caught doing whatever scheme he’d attempted. His mother had been so unhappy over it that she had overruled his father and sent him to a boarding school that claimed to be a prep school but actually...wasn't.

 

Starscream had stymied his school-mandated counselor and had loved every second of it. The woman had finally up and quit, and her replacement had been far quieter with keener eyes. She had seen right through him, and he’d hated her for that.

 

He was proud of his lack of conscience. It made a lot of things easier—the way he carefully made sure aspects of Skyfire’s research were sent to the people Skyfire most wanted to work for once he graduated, or the way he argued and fought with Megatron until they got to a conclusion they could both live with. His lack of conscience meant he could look at Skyfire, Thundercracker, Skywarp, and think _mine_.

 

Thundercracker knew that and lived with it. Skyfire guessed at it and it made him draw away. Skywarp understood the impulse and ignored the rest.

 

He didn’t understand why his stomach was twisting and why he had the sense he’d gone too far with his sniping at Windblade. It had been their standard barbed conversation; he’d said worse to her in the past.

 

Yet something had settled uncomfortably in his stomach at the way she had completely shut down, and he itched as the sensation had only grown more uncomfortable in the following days until he finally rolled out of bed and got dressed and took Thundercracker’s car down to her small house in its’ shitty neighborhood. Her roommate’s car wasn’t in the drive but the front door was open. It was cold in the damp way, and he wondered why she had her door open.

 

He parked the car and started to walk past the small fence, and he heard, “Boy!”

 

He turned to see an older woman, her dark hair long silvered. She wore a bright pink coat with black boots, and her face was creased in a scowl. “You gonna bother that girl again?” she demanded once she’d caught up. “I saw you come up the drive with her last week.”

 

Last week—oh. He shook his head. “I was taking her home from the hospital,” he explained, though he wondered why he bothered. “She’d hit her head and I wasn’t sure she could walk on her own.”

 

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Does she know you’re coming now?”

 

“Her front door’s open, isn’t it?”

 

The woman pursed her lips but let him go, and he nodded to her as he crossed the sidewalk to Windblade’s front porch. If it hadn’t been for the rock that was steadily gaining mass within his stomach, he might have been offended.

 

He made sure to close the front door behind him and walked through the house until he got to the kitchen. He’d expected to see her at the table with a pot of tea and some of those spice cookies she’d made that time (and those were _so_ good), but he’d apparently forgotten something very important, as she turned around with a large ramekin between hands covered with oven mitts and promptly dropped the ramekin upon seeing him.

 

“ _Shit!_ ”

 

He checked to make sure that the ramekin hadn’t hit her on the way down, and once he’d confirmed to himself that it hadn’t, he knelt down to help her pick up the pieces. “What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed as she looked down at the mess. Whatever she’d been making was now a gooey, cheesy mess on the linoleum of her kitchen floor, and she batted his hands away when he tried to pick up one of the pieces.

 

Right, still hot.

 

“I came to check on you, duh.” He frowned at the mess. “What’s this?”

 

Windblade’s lips trembled, and he realized with a dull pang that she wasn’t wearing her lipstick. In fact, she was the most relaxed he’d ever seen—her hair was loosely braided, showing the still-red line at her temple (but the stitches were out, she must’ve gone in yesterday or earlier that morning), and her face was, on the whole, paler than he was used to. “It was my attempt to make a,” she breathed in deeply, but he’d already spotted the misting over of her eyes and alarm bells rang in his head. “Everything’s gone _wrong_ today!” She covered her face with the oven mitts as her shoulders shook, and he panicked. He had no idea how to deal with crying people, and if he stopped to text Skyfire to ask what to do, it would take too long.

 

What _would_ Skyfire do?

 

He edged around the mess on the floor and grasped her shoulder. “...Windblade?”

 

She made a muffled noise and threw herself at him, her face buried against his shoulder as her body heaved with sobs. His arms were pinned to his sides by her hold on him, but he carefully patted her lower back with his hands and she wailed, and he winced at the noise. How did people handle this? Was there anything he _could_ say? Her arms were tight around his neck and his heartbeat thundered in his ears. No one had ever hugged him like this, even before his parents died. He’d found he’d disliked being hugged from the time he was ten or so, and his parents respected that.

 

He’d thought the same of Windblade, but apparently not?

 

Thankfully, Windblade’s crying fit didn’t last very long, and she pushed away from him with shaking arms. She removed the oven mitts to wipe her eyes, and when she looked back up at him, her blue eyes were dull. He disliked that. “Why are you here, Starscream?”

 

He looked down at the mess. “I, uh, wanted to check on you. Since we haven’t talked since, uh. Can I help clean this up?”

 

She rose. “Let me get the trash can.”

 

He knelt and carefully touched one of the ceramic pieces, and while it was still warm, it wasn’t able to burn him. He began to gather the pieces as she came back with the garbage can, and they worked silent over the wreck of the ramekin. “What were you making?” he asked softly.

 

She sighed. “A frittata-like thing. Nautica likes baked eggs with stuff in it, and mushrooms were on sale this weekend. I always have onions, and Gruyere cheese works well for this kind of thing.”

 

“Do you have any mushrooms left?”

 

“No. I only bought one package.”

 

“Come on. We’re going to the grocery store.”

 

“What? Starscream--.”

 

“You’re clearly upset,” he interrupted, narrowing his eyes at her. Her shoulders straightened, and he perked up a little. “And I still need you to get through the rest of the semester, so I’d really prefer it if you didn’t, like, cut off your finger while cooking, _so_ , in the name of my own self-interest, I am going to help you.”

 

She pursed her lips, and it didn’t quite have the same impact when she wasn’t wearing lipstick. “Really.”

 

He looked down at the now-clean floor and back up at her. “Yep.”

 

“Chromia and Nautica will be home in an hour and a half--.”

 

“Are you telling me it’ll take that long to walk through the grocery store with you?”

 

She sighed. “Guess not. Let me get my coat.”

 

Her coat flowed like a dress and was cranberry red. He didn’t know why he expected anything else, and as she buttoned it up, he saw there were slashes of black in the lining. It suited her, from the double row of buttons to the folded over collar. “Do you need a scarf?”

 

“It’s not _that_ cold.” She looped her bag over her shoulder and followed him to the front door, where she slipped her feet into calf-high black boots and leaned on him as she pulled them all the way up.

 

Her weight was negligible, and he supported her carefully as she straightened the tops of her boots. He didn’t want her crying all over him again. He let her go as she stood up, and she blinked at the door. “You...closed the door?”

 

“It’s cold outside,” he said defensively.

 

“Oh. Yeah.” She opened the door and he followed, waiting while she unlocked it.

 

“Why did you open it?”

 

She sighed, a slight hitch in her breathing. “I made bread this morning, but the first time it didn’t rise, so I opened the door, and then it rose. I guess I forgot about the door, especially since when I use the oven, the kitchen gets really hot if it’s for longer than anything like cookies.”

 

“You live in an _awful_ neighborhood and you forgot about the door?!”

 

“I’m obviously fine!” Her shoulders were hunched over, and he bit down on his next statement. She obviously realized the error of her ways, if he pushed it any farther she might start crying again.

 

“So the bread didn’t rise, what _else_ went wrong?”

 

She sighed. “Where to start? The milk was off, the salad was wilted, Chromia hadn’t taken out the garbage last night, my feet hurt because my shift was a full two hours longer than usual...” she tugged on the end of her braid. “I check my fridge twice a week for things to be off. I don’t know how those two things slipped by me.”

 

He hesitated briefly before patting her shoulder. “Car’s unlocked.”

 

“Does Thundercracker know you have his car?”

 

“Yeah, he’s with his girlfriend today. I think? He’d text me if he needed it.”

 

“You’re so sensitive to the needs of others,” she snarked.

 

“Are _you_ complaining?”

 

“...no, I guess not.”

 

“Didn’t think so. Which grocery store?”

 

“Publix, it’s--.”

 

“Down the street, yes, I know where it is.”

 

She wove the ends of her braid through her fingers. “I should also get some more eggs.”

 

“Fine.”

 

They were in and out of the grocery store, and he idled by the doorway as she put the mushrooms in a strainer in the sink. “You don’t have to stay,” she told him as she shook out the strainer. “Thanks for taking me to Publix, I really do appreciate it, but you don’t have to stay.”

 

“Whatever,” he said briskly, shrugging out of his coat and rolling up his sleeves. “Should I chop?”

 

She glanced at the onions on the cutting board. “I chop faster than you do. I’m going to need six eggs, whisked until they’re light and fluffy. Can you do that?”

 

“What do you mean, you chop faster than me? You don’t know my life.”

 

She rolled her eyes at him and went over to the cutting board. From the knife block, she took out a chef’s knife and peeled the onions before placing the front part of the blade on the cutting board. With quick, efficient movements, she had cut the onion into thin rings and then minced those up until a pile of onion remained.

 

He stared at the pile. “I can whisk eggs.”

 

“Thought so.” She patted his arm, and went rooting around in the cupboards for a small glass casserole pan. While he cracked eggs into a bowl, she wiped butter all over the dish and went back to the onions.

 

“Now what do I do?”

 

“The bowl needs to be put in the fridge so the eggs can firm up a bit. Do you know how to caramelize onions?”

 

“It’s frying them, right?”

 

“With a little bit of sugar. It won’t take long for the eggs to bake in the oven, which is why I precook the onions. Once they start to brown, we’ll add the mushrooms.”

 

He nodded, absorbed in the task. About halfway through, she dropped the mushrooms into the mess of onions, and he stirred them in while she poured the eggs into the prepared pan. “How are the onions?”

 

“Mostly brown.”

 

“You can just serve the onions and mushrooms into the eggs from the pan.”

 

Once the veggies were being absorbed into the egg mixture, she brought over the cheese and a grater. She was relaxed, unaware of how close he was, although her elbows were tucked in. “You like to cook, huh?”

 

She glanced up at him. “It’s calming. And, well, I like to feed people. It’s a mostly-mindless activity too, so I go over sentence structure while I’m chopping.”

 

“Did you know how to cook before or after your waitress job?”

 

“Before, but Heatwave’s been kind enough to show me some tricks—like the knives. My mother wasn’t about to let someone raised in her house unable to function for themselves once they left her.” She checked on the cheese level and nodded to herself. “She’s a better cook than I am, but she prefers more French-style cooking. I like East Asian.”

 

“Is she the reason why your pans are actually worth something?”

 

“She gave me a set—and the knives—when I moved here. Step back, please?” He stepped away, and she opened the oven door and placed the casserole dish inside. “What about you? Your parents?”

 

“They both died in a three-car pileup when I was sixteen. I was away at school, and there was a drunk driver going the wrong way on the freeway, so...”

 

She squeezed his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“We’d been distant a long time before then, it just...made it more final. So how long does that need to bake?”

 

“Hm, about thirty minutes, but we’ll check it in twenty.” She moved around him to the fridge. “How do you feel about yoghurt?”

 

“Mostly gross, but occasionally all right.”

 

“I want to make parfaits.”

 

“...ah. I’ve never done that before.”

 

She gave him a shy smile. “It’s not hard. The cake’s premade, I draw the line at baking _too_ much today.”

 

“Too much work?” He looked at the yoghurt, yellow cake, whipped cream, and various fruit with something akin to awe. “I...can see why you’d feel that way. Never mind.”

 

She giggled once. “I’m willing to put in the work, but not on top of everything else.”

 

“Is your friend going to be able to eat all of this?”

 

“Leftovers make good lunches.” She hummed briefly under her breath as she brought down a few bowls. “Cake goes on the bottom. Then yoghurt, then fruit, yoghurt again, fruit, whipped cream. It’s all about layers—and if you make a Shrek joke, I’m gonna punch you.”

 

“Oh please. I have a better sense of humor than that.”

 

“You have a sense of humor?”

 

He pointed the spoon at her. “Hey.”

 

She dropped her eyes, but a smile was playing around her mouth. “It’s a perfectly valid question,” she demurred.

 

“Are you questioning my sense of humor?” he demanded, propping his hip against the counter.

 

“I believe I was questioning whether it existed, not what nether realms it apparently lives in,” she peeked up at him, and her lips were trembling slightly. He would probably be able to see the tremor more clearly if she was wearing her lipstick, but her lips were an off shade of pink and it took more effort.

 

He put down the spoon and took a step toward her. Just as neatly, she stepped back. He stalked her until she was up against the wall, but her blue eyes were alight with good humor, and his own laughter was kept in his throat by sheer force of will. He placed a hand by her head on the wall and he growled, “ _Knock knock_.”

 

Her eyebrows went up, but she said breathily, almost like she was deliberately mimicking Marilyn Monroe, “Who’s there?”

 

God help him, _that_ was what nearly broke him. “Interrupting cow,” he pitched his voice even lower, and she shivered slightly.

 

“Interrupting cow w--.”

 

“MOOOO.”

 

She giggled helplessly, hiding her face in her hands as her shoulders shook. He rumbled with laughter, removing himself from her space to lean against the counter. Once she managed to get herself back under control, she leaned over to push his arm. “That was _bad_.”

 

He glanced over at her, deliberately straight-faced. “Oh?”

 

“But, fine, I concede the point. You do have a sense of humor. Even if you hide it most of the time.”

 

“Harrumph.”

 

“Seriously, though, parfaits?”

 

“ _Fine_ ,” he sighed, but it wasn’t a trial. They fell into a companionable silence, and he didn’t think he’d ever been that comfortable with her before.

 

Once they were done, she put them in the refrigerator, and the timer went off for the egg casserole-like thing. He put on the hot pads (they were red, and he liked them for reasons he couldn’t quite explain) and brought it out. She examined it carefully before nodding, and he let it rest on one of the burners.

 

He looked down at her, and she smiled. “It looks really good.”

 

He could kiss her. She was standing close enough. And she wasn’t wearing her usual lipstick, so he wouldn’t end up with red lipstick all over his face. She even seemed to be leaning in slightly, and he could just wrap a hand over the nape of her neck and just gently reel her in--.

 

“It’ll have a slightly different texture than making it in the Coringware,” she mused, stepping away from him. “Which, um, thanks for breaking that. I’ve been looking for a reason to get rid of it, but it was a gift from my mother and she _would_ notice it was missing the next time she visits, and there’s no use in getting rid of something that still works, you know?”

 

He blinked. Since when did he want to kiss her? It must’ve been the fact she had smiled more around him. He paid more attention to her mouth than usual. “Uh, you’re welcome.”

 

“She promised she’d get me the good French porcelain once the Coringware wore out,” she confided as he heard a car door close outside. “Now she has to! Well, maybe for Christmas. The point is, it’s _really_ nice and--.”

 

“Hello!” Starscream turned around at the greeting and blinked at the amount of purple the stranger was wearing. “Who’s this, Windy?”

 

“Windy?” he inquired.

 

Windblade flushed. “Uhh, Nautica, this is my study partner, Starscream. Starscream, this is my roommate, Nautica. Nautica, is Chromia coming?”

 

“Just grabbing my other bags.” Nautica eyed him and stuck out her hand. “So _you’re_ Starscream. You’re not what I thought you’d look like.”

 

“Nautica!”

 

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” he drawled, enjoying how much redder Windblade was getting. Nautica’s hand was as callused as Thundercracker’s, and he wondered if she too worked in engineering.

 

“Interesting,” Nautica supplied. “I didn’t know you two cooked together.”

 

Windblade looked like she wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole. “Er. Well. Not exactly.”

 

“She made cookies for me once. They were excellent.”

 

“I did not _make you cookies_ \--.”

 

“Yeah, she does that,” Nautica agreed, her lips pulling into a smile. “She feeds you her cookies and all of a sudden you think she’s amazing. Windy, does that make you the embodiment of the Dark Side?”

 

Windblade buried her face in her hands, and she was saved from the very nasty death via embarrassment by the arrival of Chromia, who had three duffel bags slung over her shoulders. “What’s _he_ doing here?”

 

“Helping Windy cook, apparently.” Nautica eased one of the duffels off Chromia’s shoulder. “I’m gonna go put this in the bedroom.”

 

“I should go,” he excused himself. “Thundercracker probably wants his car back.”

 

“Yeah, you should really get on that,” Windblade said with a slightly nervous laugh. “I’ll walk you out.”

 

“That’s not--.”

 

“I insist.” She steered him past Chromia, and she paused by the porch. “Um—thanks for helping today. I needed the additional help.”

 

“Not a big,” he shrugged.

 

She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “It is. Okay? It is.” Then she surprised him utterly by stepping into his space and wrapping her arms around his body so that her hands were placed over his shoulder blades.  The top of her head reached his shoulder, and after a beat he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She squeezed him once before taking a step back. “I’ll see you on Tuesday?”

 

He had to swallow before he could answer. “T-Tuesday. Right.”

 

She smiled again. “Safe drive.”

 

He fled before he could stumble over anything else.

 

\--

 

Nautica flopped on the couch, and Windblade lifted her language textbook so that Nautica could swing her legs over Windblade’s lap. “So _that’s_ Starscream.”

 

“Yeah,” Windblade said in the absent-I’m-listening-but-not-really voice.

 

“That’s not exactly what I figured him to look like.”

 

“Really.”

 

“Thought he’d be uglier.”

 

“Mm.”

 

Nautica stretched. “The way he was looking at _you_ , though. What’s that quote? Oh right, ‘Like you’re the ocean and he’s dying to drown.’”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Windy?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“What did I just say?”

 

“Something about the ocean?” Windblade’s cheeks flushed. “Sorry, I’ve got a test coming up on Thai sentence construction and it is kicking my _ass_.”

 

Nautica sat upright. “Windblade. Did you see how Starscream was looking at you?”

 

Windblade arched one of her brows. “Obviously not, if I’m not replying with the affirmative immediately.”

 

Nautica nudged her. “What happened today?”

 

Windblade breathed out raggedly, and Nautica tensed. She knew that sound. That was the sound of Windblade fighting back tears. “He stopped by today to, um, check on me. We had an argument earlier this week, and I think he was doing the roundabout apology thing. But he surprised me while I was taking the pan from the oven, and--.”

 

“And you dropped it, making a _huge_ mess.”

 

“Yeah. And that was, like, the fourth screw up that morning, so I just...lost it. He awkwardly patted me on the back, and then we cleaned up the kitchen and fixed it.”

 

Nautica narrowed her eyes. “You are the clingiest of all the barnacles when you’re crying. Did you glom onto him?”

 

Windblade looked back at her book, cheeks now a brilliant scarlet.

 

“Can you answer me a question?” Nautica tugged the book out of Windblade’s hands. It wasn’t all _that_ hard. “Just one, I promise. Just—at what point did the asshole who made a shift a living hell for you become your friend?”

 

“I don’t know if I’d call him my friend,” Windblade said warily.

 

“Let’s go with what you’ve told me: he brings you food, he paid your hospital bill when his cat caused you to fall down and bust your face open, _and_ he stayed with you to keep you from having a bad attack of the vapors after you got home. Sounds a hell of a lot like a friend to me, Windy.”

 

“It’s not that. It’s just—he can be _so rude_. Without any reason to be! He’s not so bad now, but our argument this past week was just—he was _vicious_ and he didn’t need to be. I mean, okay, I wasn’t a saint either, but...if I think of him as a friend, then I’ll expect him not to be awful, and I think him being awful is an intrinsic part of his personality by now. I _can’t_ allow myself to put him that space. That way, I’m never disappointed.”

 

Nautica swung her legs off Windblade’s lap so she could snuggle up against her side. “Oh Windy.”

 

Windblade slung an arm around Nautica’s shoulder and picked up her textbook again. “I’ll be okay. I probably won’t deal with him again after this semester is over.”

 

“I kinda doubt that.” Nautica looked up at her. “He seems like the type to play for keeps, and Windy, I think he's not gonna leave you alone.”

 

Windblade looked down at her, lips parted slightly. “Nautica--.”

 

“If he’s as selfish as you say he is, then I don’t think he’d put that much effort into someone without intending to keep them in some way in the long run.”

 

“Yeah. Well. We’ll see.”

 

Nautica snuggled more comfortably against Windblade’s side. “Oh, and could you find elsewhere to be next Saturday night?”

 

“Yeah, definitely.”

 

“I’m sure Star _scream_ would love--.”

 

“Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in case it wasn't exactly clear, I am a food nerd as much as a politics nerd.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, when I first started writing, I didn't expect that it would be the monster that it became. I am incapable of writing short fic, apparently??
> 
> But anyway, one of the moments that I _most_ looked forward to writing is in this chapter. 
> 
> Also, the Puppy Bowl is the best thing about American Thanksgiving.
> 
> The Mistress of Flame's face claim is [here](http://images.boomsbeat.com/data/images/full/149260/michelle-yeoh-9-jpg.jpg). We're going to pretend Michelle Yeoh is 6'1.

**PART FIVE**

**_Then:_ **

**HOLIDAYS**

 

Starscream slunk into the lab with none of his usual panache. Skyfire raised his eyebrows as Starscream deposited himself on a stool with a dramatic sigh. “What is it?” he asked carefully.

 

“I have a problem,” Starscream grumbled.

 

“Oh?”

 

Starscream met his eyes, and there was uncharacteristic despondence in them. “I no longer have the desire to fuck Windblade.”

 

“I would have thought that was a good thing,” Skyfire said cautiously.

 

“I should say that I have the desire to do more than fuck her,” Starscream clarified. “I now have the desire to have gentle, life-affirming sex with her.”

 

Skyfire thought through that. “Why...is that a problem?”

 

“I _never_ feel that way about people,” Starscream propped his chin in his hands. “The last person I felt that way about was you, and it was right before you ended things.”

 

“...ah.” Skyfire fought to parse that. He and Starscream had been together for four months. That actually did explain a few things. “What happened?”

 

“It was last Sunday, and I’d gone to check on her, you know, to make sure she was doing all right? And then it just spiraled from there...”

 

Not for the first time, Skyfire wondered how Starscream identified. Starscream could—and would—fuck literally anyone, with absolutely no concern for their gender or sexual presentation. However, he struggled with making emotional connections, and Skyfire had suspected the death of his parents had something to do with it.

 

But if Starscream’s rambling explanation for his sudden, er, change of heart regarding Windblade was any indication, it took him feeling a certain degree of personal comfort with the person to make that emotional connection. Windblade had been vulnerable around him, the most vulnerable a person could be (without getting naked, but that was a different kind of vulnerability entirely), and something in Starscream’s shriveled heart had responded.

 

“So what you’re telling me,” Skyfire said once Starscream had finished and was staring at the unlit Bunsen burner, “is that you no longer want a simple sexual relationship with her, but an actual romantic one.”

 

Starscream pulled a face. “Ugh, I _guess_. This isn’t supposed to happen to me!”

 

“Are you going to pursue it?”

 

“Probably not. She hasn’t really expressed any interest in me, like, at all.” Starscream brightened, and alarm bells rang in Skyfire’s head. “Maybe the next time she stops by the dorm, I could just _happen_ to be shirtless or something! That usually works.”

 

“Starscream, no.”

 

“Do you know how hard I work on this?” Starscream demanded. “It usually does half the job! The other half is smirking and winking at the same time, and boom! Imminent orgasm.”

 

“Oh good _god_.”

 

“Worked on _you_ ,” Starscream sniffed.

 

“...I am sorry to say that it did.”

 

“So then it would probably work on her!”

 

“I doubt that. Starscream, don’t go rushing into things. You can’t bewitch her into a relationship using your dick. That’s what an incubus does. You do not want to be the bizarre sex demon.”

 

Starscream sniffed. “You’re so boring.”

 

“And you’re someone who’s head over heels for a tiny languages major,” Skyfire retorted. “Wonder what _her_ standard is for mindblowing orgasms.”

 

The implied insult went right over Starscream’s head as his eyes gleamed. “Ooh, I _wonder_.”

 

Skyfire despaired. Scheming Starscream was _much_ worse than a despondent Starscream.

 

It was not going to end well.

 

\--

 

“ _You’re_ late.”

 

“I’m here ten minutes before class,” Windblade panted as she eased past him. Her coat caught on the edge of his chair before she pulled it free. “I’m on time.”

 

“You’re late _for you_. What happened?”

 

“Snow happened,” she wound the scarf out from around her neck and sat down heavily. “I hit a patch of ice on my bike and nearly broke something. Then I had to answer some benevolently concerned questions about my well-being and they wouldn’t let me leave until they were sure I was all right. Yet here I am.”

 

“Ah.”

 

She glanced at him. “You’re earlier than usual.”

 

“Heat’s on the fritz in the dorm. I figured the class buildings wouldn’t have the same problem.”

 

She winced. “How’s Bitch and Buster?”

 

“Huddled for warmth under four blankets. Thundercracker doesn’t have class Tuesdays, so he’s staying with them and heating up their food carefully. We’ve been assured the heat will be back on by the end of the day.”

 

“Oh good.” She leaned her chin on her hand. “I hope this week’s assignment is easy. I’m pulling a double shift tomorrow since we don’t have class and I am _not_ looking forward to coming home and having to work immediately on homework.”

 

“You’re not going home for Thanksgiving?”

 

She shrugged and unbuttoned the top part of her coat. “Nah. My mother doesn’t have time over Thanksgiving to hang out, and if I stay then I get good shifts with excellent tips. Nautica and Chromia are going home, though.”

 

“Are you working Thanksgiving?”

 

“No.” She stretched and pulled out her notes. “You?”

 

“The dorm is closing tomorrow, so Thundercracker and Skywarp are going to TC’s parents’ in Tennessee. I’m staying with Megatron, I usually do.”

 

She blinked. “I wasn’t aware you two had that relationship.”

 

“What? _No_. No, after events unfolded, Megatron offered me a place to live while I figured out what to do with myself. I stay with him over the holidays since the dorms close.”

 

“So you two do Thanksgiving?”

 

“More like we get the full spread from Boston Market and watch football. What are you doing?”

 

“Studying, mostly. I’ve got to put the finishing touches on two essays and study for finals.” She looked over at him. “Looking forward to the break. My shifts pick up a bit but at least I can spend the rest of the time sleeping or watching TV that I don’t have the time for during the semester.”

 

He snorted. “I get that.”

 

“What’s your choice of poison?”

 

Like hell was he going to tell her _Steven Universe_. “ _How to Get Away with Murder_ , mostly.”

 

“Keeping the spoilers away has been a trick and a half,” she said wisely. “Chromia watches the show religiously, but most Thursday nights I come home just in time to catch the last ten minutes, which obviously is not helpful.”

 

“Oh, obviously.”

 

“I’m looking forward to catching up to _Gravity Falls_ , actually,” she murmured. “I caught the last August episode but I haven’t been able to keep up since. I’m just so tired when I have anything approaching free time.”

 

“I don’t think I could keep up with your schedule, honestly,” he admitted. “I don’t think I have the drive.”

 

She flushed a little. “There’s a trade-off. I haven’t been well-rested in years.”

 

He snorted. “College.”

 

She winked at him, and then Professor Magnus was at the lectern, and they both faced forward.

 

\--

 

“So, I have a wager for you,” Megatron leaned against Optimus’ doorframe.

 

“What do I get when I win?” Optimus asked drolly, glancing up from essay #34 out of 56.

 

Megatron snorted. “Some Prosecco at Christmas?”

 

Optimus put down the essay. “You _always_ give me Prosecco for Christmas, just like I _always_ give you the good bourbon. Try again.”

 

“I think you should hear out my wager first.”

 

“Fine, fine.”

 

Megatron sat down in the chair in front of Optimus. “So, you might know my star pupil and foster-son, Starscream.”

 

“Yes, I do believe we’ve met.” Optimus’ sarcasm could have cut glass.

 

“And he happens to be working with _your_ star pupil, Windblade.”

 

“I was aware of the partnership.”

 

“Ah, but are you aware of the _raging crush_ he has on her?”

 

Optimus squinted at him. “I will...require some elucidation.”

 

“ _Well_. I happened to meet her—though I’m not fully sure she knows who I am, why didn’t you push her to sign up for my International Law course again?—and it was just in time for Starscream to come bother her at the poli-sci department.”

 

“As Starscream is wont is do.”

 

“As Starscream is wont to do,” Megatron agreed. “In any case, he was actually attempting to get to _know_ her.”

 

“That is...indeed fascinating.”

 

“He ended up being an asshole, but I have it on good authority that he then made up for his mistake. So, onto my wager.”

 

“Go on.” Optimus wove his fingers together and rested his chin on them.

 

“I will be alerting Starscream once he gets to my home tomorrow that we are breaking our typical Thanksgiving monotony and actually having you over, because you _are_ a member of the family.”

 

“Thank you for the acknowledgement."

 

“So Starscream is welcome to bring someone if he wishes.”

 

“And you are willing to wager that he will go fetch Windblade?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“And if he does not...”

 

“Then you get to mock me for it later. But I’d like to think I know him pretty well by now.”

 

“Hm, fine, I will wager that he _does_ leave, but he will not come back in time for Thanksgiving dinner,” Optimus leaned back in his chair and picked up his Rubik’s cube. “What are the stakes of the wager?”

 

“I always like alcohol.”

 

“I am willing to wager a bottle of whiskey you and I both prefer.”

 

“You must think you’ll win.”

 

“Starscream is ultimately self-serving. That is the one constant about him.”

 

“True enough. We have a wager.”

 

\--

 

Windblade blew on her mug of tea as Nautica worried over her open suitcase. “What’s the problem? You just came back from a 6 month trek across most of Europe.”

 

“This is the first time I’m spending Thanksgiving with Chromia’s family as her _girlfriend_ ,” Nautica pulled at her shirt hem. “I mean, what if they don’t like me?”

 

Windblade rolled her eyes. “Nautica, they’ve already met you, and it’s not like you and Chromia are _subtle_. If they haven’t had a problem with you before, then they won’t have one with you now.”

 

“Yeah, but _still_.”

 

With a gentle sigh, Windblade put aside her mug and got up to wrap her arms around Nautica, her hands tucking under Nautica’s chest and resting her chin on Nautica’s shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay, you kooky engineer,” Windblade informed her as Nautica squeezed her hands. “They’re not going to hate you. Chromia’s parents are pretty chill.”

 

“Doesn’t stop the anxiety.”

 

“Do you want me to help you pack?”

 

“...yes please.”

 

“Would you like some tea?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I’ll be right back.”

 

Chromia was making soup in the kitchen, and Windblade poured an extra mug of tea. “Nautica’s tweaking over your parents freaking about your relationship.”

 

“They’re not gonna freak.”

 

“Maybe you could remind her.”

 

“Yeah, I can do that.”

 

Windblade picked up the mug and brought it back over to Nautica, who had progressed to sitting on the living room floor and staring at her clothes. “Most of my clothes are threadbare from said 6 month trek over most of Europe,” she bemoaned. “And I don’t have the time to go get more.”

 

“You’re gonna be back at home during Black Friday,” Windblade reminded her. “Get some stuff then.”

 

“Oh. Right! How are you gonna handled five days by yourself?”

 

“I’m working Black Friday,” Windblade hid a yawn behind her hand. “And Saturday. What free time I have I’ll be spending studying.”

 

“I wish you had more free time,” Nautica tugged some of the loose threads from her shirt. “I miss you, you know?”

 

“You’ve got a full course-load for the spring, and your free time will be decreased dramatically,” Windblade sipped her tea. “And you’ve got a job lined up with the Department of Engineering.”

 

Nautica tangled their fingers together. Windblade squeezed back. “Yeah, but. Windy.”

 

Windblade dropped her eyes. “I know. I _do_ know.”

 

“But on the plus side, I will not be trekking all over the place come the summer!” Nautica announced. “I mean, I’m thinking of working as a volunteer for Doc Hatchet, just for something to _do_ , but—oh my god, Windy, I haven’t gotten a chance to share _that_ particular gossip yet.”

 

Windblade sat upright. “Gossip?”

 

“So you know how Drift was having anemia issues?”

 

“Yes, I remember.”

 

“So we’re sitting at one of the convents along the way—I _think_ it was Aquitaine?—and all of a sudden, the doors blow open, and it’s like, it _has_ to be eleven at night. Night’s fallen and it’s super dark, and the doors open with this-this _finality_ , and in through the door steps Doc Hatchet.” Nautica’s eyes glinted with laughter. “And I mean, you’ve seen him when he’s in a rage, that was like half of your Intro to Public Health class, but he’s _super_ red and he whirls on Rodimus, and I swear to god, I think Rodimus was honestly considering his chances if he ran. Drift got up before Ratchet could start in on Rodimus, and we’d managed to find a pharmacy so he wasn’t as badly off as he’d been, but he was still really pale, and Ratchet calmed the fuck down without Drift even saying anything. He cuffed Drift before glaring at Rodimus, and then the two of them went off to talk. I have been informed that all they did was talk, since we were staying at a _convent_ , but the following morning, Drift told Rodimus he was leaving and he and Ratchet just left.”

 

“Oh, I remember something about that,” Windblade thought back to the first time she’d gone to see Professor Magnus. Professor Ratchet had been there, and they’d been talking about him going to get someone. “Is Drift a student? I haven’t seen him before, but then again...”

 

“You wouldn’t unless you shared majors.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Actually, I’m not really sure? We didn’t really talk as we took the pilgrimage. He and Percy talked more, and Percy’s not coming back until after Christmas.”

 

“Why?”

 

“He’s working at the University of Oxbridge. I wasn’t studying, I was doing an internship, so.”

 

“Ah. Okay.”

 

Nautica yanked on the ends of her hair. “Can you trim me? I’d do it--.”

 

“But the last time you did, you had more than a passing resemblance to a mop. Get me your scissors?”

 

Nautica grinned and went to fetch them. Windblade returned to the kitchen, where she set up a chair. Chromia whistled as she added cayenne and black pepper to the soup, and Windblade murmured, “Traditional Thanksgiving fare? Fie upon the very thought.”

 

“Hey, I will have you know this _is_ butternut squash soup. Just trying to cut through the sweetness.”

 

“Try garlic.”

 

“Already added some.”

 

Nautica returned with the hair scissors, a comb, _and_ a towel, and she settled down in the chair. Windblade started to comb the ends, and Chromia came over to Nautica with a spoon. “Try this.”

 

Windblade pulled the comb away as Nautica jerked her head forward, and she hummed. “It’s good! Could use a little salt.”

 

“Got it.”

 

As Chromia went back over to the stove, Windblade went back to combing Nautica’s hair before she cut. “I forgot how gentle you are while you’re doing this,” Nautica said quietly. “Not that you’re _not_ gentle, but...”

 

Windblade squeezed her shoulder. “I know what you mean.”

 

The sound of snipping started to fill the air and fought with the sound of soup bubbling. Nautica relaxed almost entirely as Windblade trimmed the hair at the nap of her neck before moving on around. It was a companionable silence, punctuated at times with soup bubbles bursting against the metal of the pot.

 

Chromia brought the spoon over to Windblade, and she nodded at the taste. Nautica’s eyes had closed as Windblade moved around to her bangs, and just as Chromia started to spoon soup into bowls, Windblade brushed away the pieces of hair onto the floor. “All done. Unless you’d like me to shear you entirely.”

 

Nautica hurried over to the bathroom. “Nope, all good!” she called. “I don’t look as shaggy.”

 

“It’s far preferable,” Chromia agreed as Nautica returned to the kitchen. “Not that you didn’t look cute--.”

 

Nautica hip-checked her. “Don’t be _rude_.”

 

Windblade got the broom. “If the two of you are going to make out, please get out of the kitchen. We _eat_ in here.”

 

“Unless you want in?” Nautica waggled her eyebrows.

 

“Chromia doesn’t share,” Windblade reminded her.

 

“Well, I _could_...”

 

“I love y’all, but not like that,” Windblade said flatly, even though she smiled a little. “Food, please. I still have homework to do. _And_ I’m pulling a double tomorrow so that I could be home tonight.”

 

“You’ve managed to almost entirely shed your Georgia accent, it’s nice to know we can still drag it out of you,” Nautica teased, bounding over to her and wrapping an arm around her waist. “Don’t forget your roots, Windy.”

 

Windblade pulled her Solus charm out from under her clothes and dangled it at Nautica. “Fat chance of that.”

 

Nautica smacked a kiss onto her cheek. “Religion’s different, sweetie.”

 

“Not that she’s attended services since she left home.”

 

“Hey, _you_ find a Church of Solus anywhere north of Caminus.”

 

“I wasn’t criticizing you,” Chromia said mildly as she gave Nautica a bowl of soup with a chunk of bread in it. “It’s not like I’ve been attending services either.”

 

“Yeah, but you weren’t particularly interested in services _before_ you left home,” Windblade felt the need to belabor the point, something Nautica picked up on if the way she trod on Windblade’s foot was any indicator.

 

“I love your mom, but she can be a little didactic,” Chromia shoved a bowl into Windblade’s hands. “And she was always the one lecturing on Friday nights.”

 

“Fair enough.” Windblade took a bite of soup.

 

They ate standing up, and then Nautica took the dishes while Windblade and Chromia cleaned up the remainder, putting some in the freezer and the rest in the fridge for Windblade to eat while Chromia and Nautica were away. “You sure you’re gonna be okay for five days?” Chromia nudged her. “This house is gonna get quiet. You hate that.”

 

“I’ll be okay. I’ll be working and studying.”

 

Chromia kissed her forehead. “Be careful, okay?”

 

Windblade gave her a watery smile. “I always am.”

 

\--

 

Starscream levered himself down onto a stool at the bar. He gestured to the bartender, who nodded at him but continued to fix another cocktail. Starscream rested his cheek in his hand as he trailed his fingernail through the condensation left by the chair’s user before him.

 

“What do you want?” Starscream looked at the bartender.

 

“You look familiar.”

 

“Do you go to Thunderclash’s? I used to be the bartender there. I’m Blurr.”

 

“Starscream.”

 

“Star— _oh_.”

 

“My reputation precedes me?” Starscream asked dryly.

 

“You could say that. What can I get for you?”

 

“Vodka with grenadine and Sprite.”

 

“Family coming by tomorrow you don’t want to deal with?” Blurr asked with amusement.

 

“My foster father’s bringing his best friend by and I don’t like him very much.”

 

“Best friend or _best friend?”_ Blurr raised his eyebrows and Starscream winced slightly.

 

“Best friend _I hope_. Though...it would explain a lot...Whatever! Not going there. My foster father’s informed me I can bring a friend if I want, but there’s no one I feel comfortable asking.” Like hell he was going to tell a stranger about the _actual_ arrangement. Optimus living almost full-time at Megatron's was something between the two of them and didn't belong to the public.

 

“But there’s someone you _want_ to ask?” Blurr put down the glass. Starscream handed over his money, and Blurr tucked it in his pocket.

 

“I don’t want them reading more into it than is there.”

 

“...really.”

 

“It’s _Thanksgiving_ dinner with my foster father and his best friend.”

 

“Ah. Yes, I can understand why that’s a biggie. Is this other person alone tomorrow?”

 

“Yes. Yes, they are.”

 

“So invite them and to hell with it.”

 

Starscream sipped at his drink sullenly. “Maybe,” he grumbled. _Maybe I should just go hang out with Skyfire instead._

 

\--

 

The house was too quiet, and Windblade itched. She didn’t study well to music, but how quiet the house was beyond usual household noises—the humming of the refrigerator and the buzz of the heating unit—grated on her awareness.

 

She realized she’d been staring at the last sentence she’d written an hour ago, and she pushed herself away from the table. Tea. She would make tea.

 

There was banging on the door, and she dropped the teakettle on the floor. The Jehovah’s Witnesses and the Mormons didn’t come to her neighborhood (she blamed latent racism, not that she wasn’t complaining at the lack of door-to-door evangelical missionaries), and on top of that, it was _Thanksgiving_.

 

She placed the teakettle back on the counter with slightly shaking hands before she wandered into the entry hall. The banging came again, and she opened the door to see—

 

Skyfire and Starscream, laden with bags.

 

“I couldn’t let you languish here once Star informed me you were home alone for this,” Skyfire informed her. He held up his two bags. “We brought lunch and dinner. Linner? Is that a word?”

 

“Shakespeare would probably agree with you,” she told him as he and Starscream maneuvered around her. “But why come here?”

 

“Because I’m avoiding Megatron and Prime,” Starscream was barely speaking above a grumble. “They’re both at Megatron’s house for Thanksgiving and I have no desire to be there when they are _both_ there.”

 

“Um, okay.” She closed the door and padded after them into the kitchen. Skyfire was rooting through her cabinets, and she looked at Starscream as he put down his share of the bags and peered at her notes and laptop on the table. “Let me just—move these--.”

 

Starscream looked at the open word document and started to scroll through it. “Starscream--.”

 

“Windblade, I have to admit I’m flummoxed. Where are your plates?”

 

“Above the sink,” she pointed, and Skyfire smacked his forehead dramatically. “Starscream, you really don’t have to--.”

 

“This is terrible, nothing at _all_ like your usual quality,” Starscream rolled his eyes. “What’s going on, that this is your issue?”

 

“It’s a rough draft.”

 

“I’ve seen your rough drafts--they're better than some of TC’s final drafts. What’s _really_ going on?”

 

She snatched the laptop from him and closed the lid with finality. “I’m having some issues,” she sniffed. “I thought we were eating, not critiquing my _rough drafts_.”

 

“We can’t do both?” he helped gather her notes together. “I don’t know why you’re having issues with it. It’s just an extension of what we’ve been working on all semester.”

 

“I’m not asking you for help.”

 

“I’m not offering.”

 

“ _Really_.”

 

“We’re having Chinese,” Skyfire announced. “No peanuts _or_ shellfish.”

 

“Is it from the white people place, or--.”

 

“No, it’s from the good one.”

 

“Oh, good. Wait, why are we having Chinese on Thanksgiving?” Windblade put down her laptop on a free counter.

 

Starscream had found the silverware. “Because it’s the only place that’s open today.”

 

“Open at this time,” Skyfire tacked on. “The other places don’t open until after 2 this afternoon, and Starscream was about to start eating my desk.”

 

“I was _not_.”

 

“There were splinters around his mouth,” Skyfire confided.

 

Windblade giggled. “Oh, I’m sure.”

 

“Everyone is against me,” Starscream bemoaned to the ceiling.

 

“Oh, buck up,” Windblade elbowed him. “This isn’t as bad as some of the ribbing you’ve ever gone through.”

 

“I’m not usually accused of violently consuming office furniture.”

 

“I’m sure your ego is strong enough to take it.” She sat down at the table with a full plate, but then got up again to get something to drink. “Soda? Juice? Tea?”

 

“Soda,” Starscream said immediately.

 

“I would also like soda, please,” Skyfire angled the rest of the food down onto to the table without spilling it, something she was quite grateful for.

 

“It’s Sprite, is that all right?”

 

“Yes,” Skyfire sat down at the table and snapped open his pair of chopsticks.

 

Starscream shrugged. “Don’t really care.”

 

“Oh good, I’m glad you have a stake in the decision.”

 

“Sprite versus other soda is _such_ a world-changing decision.”

 

“I don’t know how we’ll stay the same.”

 

“I’m a modern man, I like change. I might grow a mustache.”

 

Windblade put down the glass. “Did you seriously just quote _Princess Diaries 2?_ ”

 

“Badly,” Skyfire observed.

 

Starscream rolled his eyes, though his cheeks darkened. “Moving right along.”

 

“I’m more concerned about how you knew the source of the quote.” Skyfire took his glass with a smile.

 

“It’s Chromia’s go-to feel-good movie when she’s feeling particularly crappy.”

 

“ _No_ ,” Starscream said with delight.

 

“Yep. But if you tease her about it, she will know I told you and she will kill me, so, in the interest of continuing to breathe, _don’t tease her about it_.”

 

“But what if--.”

 

“Eat your food.” Windblade took the third chair and started in on hers.

 

Starscream complied, but not without rolling his eyes at the both of them.

 

After finishing, Windblade glanced at both Skyfire and Starscream. “This is the most untraditional Thanksgiving I’ve ever had.”

 

“What’s your traditional Thanksgiving?” Skyfire asked, putting down his chopsticks.

 

“My mother invites all of her senior students over to our house, and then we all work together to create Thanksgiving dinner. Then me, plus the most lowly of the senior students, do the dishes while my mother and her favorites retire to her study to debate thealogy until it’s time for them to go.” She shrugged.

 

“Sounds frustrating,” Skyfire said sympathetically.

 

“Not really. I was raised around the seminary so it wasn’t weird for me, but I hate doing dishes.”

 

“Yet you have no dishwasher,” Starscream looked around the kitchen, before quirking an eyebrow at her.

 

“The next place I live, I’ll have one. Though, to be fair, my pans and my knives _cannot_ go in the dishwasher regardless, so.” Windblade rested her chin in her hand. “I have to make compromises.”

 

“In that case, _I_ shall do the dishes,” Skyfire said firmly. “Would you like to work on your essay?”

 

Windblade eyed Starscream. “...I suppose.”

 

Starscream hauled his chair over to her side of the table as she got up to retrieve her laptop and her notes. Skyfire whistled to himself as he started the water running, and Windblade opened her laptop and typed in her password. Once that was done, Starscream moved her laptop so he could better analyze her writing, and she thought about fighting him, but then it was too late.

 

“So the thesis and basic premise is good,” he told her after a moment. “And your evidence, as usual, is adequate. But I’m not understanding why you’re having trouble stringing your logic together.”

 

“It’s one of those ‘I know what I want to say, but I can’t get the words out in the right way’ issues.” Windblade blew a strand of hair out of her face as she pulled her notes over. “Usually that means I need to take a break and come back, but I don’t have time to take a break and come back.”

 

“Your basic premise is that marriage law changed fundamentally after the patriarchal shift, and it has been reflected in religious and cultural codes. You’re citing evidence of how the status of women changed legally after the patriarchal shift, and that’s what you’re using to prop up your argument. What’s tough about stringing words together about that?”

 

“Wow, you make it sound so easy, why don’t you just write it for me?” she rolled her eyes at him. “I don’t believe in making things harder for myself than I have to, you ass. If I’m struggling, it’s because I’m legitimately struggling, not because I’m trying to garner sympathy points.”

 

“ _Fine_.” Starscream drummed his fingers on the table before he brought her notes over to peer at them.

 

“What are you writing your essay on?”

 

“How marriage law created the prelude to international law,” he said absently. “When cross-cultural marriages took place, there had to be law to protect the people within the marriages.”

 

“Huh.”

 

“Yeah, I’m almost done. Megatron’s got this law library at his house, so I’ve been getting a good bit of it done. Wanna read it over once I’m done?”

 

“Um, sure, okay.”

 

He looked down at her notes. “So I’m going to ask you questions, based on your notes. Hopefully that’ll jog you.”

 

“Fine, okay, shoot.”

 

“Cite a specific example of the status of women in marriage law pre-patriarchal shift.”

 

She breathed in deeply. “In the case of...”

 

Skyfire listened to the two of them start to run through her notes, and he waited until they paused to ask, “Windblade, where’s your bathroom?”

 

“Down at the end of the hall,” she smiled slightly at him.

 

“Thanks.” He wandered past the kitchen and the living room to down the hall. There were two bedrooms—one had the door closed, and he deduced it was Windblade’s roommate’s room. The other door was open, and he saw an Ikea-standard full bed, neatly made, with a deep blue patterned bedspread. There were several bookshelves, stuffed full of books and notebooks, and while he was vaguely tempted to look inside her closet, that _was_ crossing the line.

 

The bathroom was a mix of grey and purple, a tiny room with a shower-tub. The entire place was almost painfully neat, but he knew from experience that if there was a small space, it had to be kept clean to seem bigger than it was.

 

When he came back, Windblade was typing away and Starscream was leaning against her shoulder. “No, no, you shouldn’t use that word choice.”

 

“Hush and let me work,” she grumbled at him.

 

Skyfire noted how Starscream was pressed up against her side, and she seemed comfortable with him being there. “Windblade, do you mind if I turn on the Puppy Bowl?”

 

“Go ahead,” she waved a hand at him before refocusing on her paper.

 

The two of them went back and forth through the entirety of the Puppy Bowl, and by the time he came back out to eat more of the leftovers, she looked tired but satisfied, and Starscream was practically hanging off her. “Got done what you wanted to?” he inquired.

 

She pushed at Starscream, and he leaned back in his chair. “I’m mostly done, but I’m not as twisted up about it now.” She hid a yawn behind her hand. “How was the Puppy Bowl?”

 

“Cute, as always. ABC Family is starting the Christmas push with The Santa Clause. Would you like to watch?”

 

Starscream pulled a face—he disliked Christmas—but Windblade’s face lit up. “For all of its’ cheese, I do like that one.” She turned to Starscream. “Would you be the literal worst about watching that?”

 

“I suppose I could restrain myself.” He hid a yawn of his own. “Food.” She started to get up, but he gestured at her. “I’ve got it, you go enjoy your _children’s_ movie.”

 

Skyfire saw Starscream jerk slightly and assumed Windblade had kicked his shin—no more than he deserved—but then Windblade was standing up and stretching. She was dressed for comfort in the chilly house, an oversized scarlet sweatshirt and black leggings, but Starscream’s eyes watched her stretch anyway.

 

Skyfire’s stomach knotted. That wasn’t Starscream-in-lust watching her.

 

She padded toward him. “So what are your feelings on this classic Tim Allen Christmas movie?” Her eyes were playful despite the shadows underneath them.

 

“It’s something I don’t mind watching once a year.”

 

Her face creased in a smile. “That’s pretty much my exact reaction to it.”

 

Windblade curled up against the arm of the couch, and she made a mental note about how she needed to see if she could get her mother to contribute towards a new couch. The current one was lumpy, but it was rapidly getting to ‘no longer viable.’

 

The movie started, and about ten minutes in, Starscream appeared with food, and he sat down between the two of them. Windblade tucked her feet further under her body to create a more level surface to balance the plate on, and she murmured, “Thank you.”

 

Starscream shrugged at her.

 

It apparently was not the first time Skyfire and Starscream had watched the movie together, because they kept commenting to each other about until they reached the point Tim Allen had finally decided to take responsibility for being Santa, at which point Skyfire dozed off.

 

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Starscream asked under the dialogue of the climax.

 

She shifted her feet a little with a wince. Pins and needles were the _worst_. “I’m staying here after finals, but I’m leaving to go home on the 23 rd. I’ll be back on the 27th.”

 

“You’re not staying longer than that?”

 

“My mother has a bunch of pre-term stuff to do, and if I work New Year’s Eve I get great tips. Besides,” she adjusted the hem of her sweatshirt a little nervously, “I don’t actually like being home all that much. My mother’s really, um, reserved.”

 

“Because you’re an open book.”

 

“Reserved bordering on repressed,” she clarified. “It’s really uncomfortable now that I’m not living it 24/7.”

 

“Oh. _Oh_.”

 

“Yeah.” She got up and took Skyfire’s plate before it flipped rice grains all over the rug. “Can you bring your dish over to the sink? I should wash them before the food gets too gross.”

 

“I can dry.”

 

“Dude, it’s like three dishes.”

 

“If Skyfire falls legitly asleep, he’ll start kicking. Even when we were together, we rarely slept in the same bed because of that.”

 

She paused. “Did I know that? That you two were together?” she considered it. “I...think I did know that. How did you two manage to stay friends after?”

 

“He was the rare lab partner I could work with, and science was more important than the ended relationship.”

 

She started to run the plates under hot water with soap, and he was standing just a little too close with the kitchen towel. Her hands were too hot, thanks to the running water, but her back was cold, and she was very aware of how close his body heat was. She shoved one plate in his hands, but he didn’t step away, and his elbows brushed against hers as she scrubbed at sauce on the second plate. “I’ve never had that kind of prioritization with an ex,” she told him. “But most of them wouldn’t have run into me in their day-to-day except for dating me, so...”

 

He was focused on drying the plate, and the overheard lighting gilded his jawline. He didn’t have a particularly strong jaw, but it _was_ angular and she looked back down at the plate she was cleaning, cheeks warm.

 

He took the next plate, and their fingers brushed. She flushed further, but he didn’t appear to notice, and she breathed a silent prayer to Solus that he _wouldn’t_.

 

All three plates were washed and dried, and she turned to him with a small smile. “Thanks, that did go fast--,” he placed a hand on the small of her back, and she shut up with a squeak. From the tips of his fingers to his wrist, his hand was large enough to cover the small of her back, and his hand was warm, even through her knitted sweater. “What--?” her words dried further when he curled his free hand around her jaw, and her heart began to pound. _What was he doing?_ He passed his thumb over her cheek, his eyes intent.

 

“What’s this?”

 

“What’s what?” her voice was higher than she meant, and her cheeks were rapidly flooding with color.

 

“There’s a small—something, here. What happened?” he flexed his thumb against her cheekbone, and she had never been so aware of how much taller he was in comparison to her.

 

“Oh, um, _oh_ , that’s something I got when I was 9. I ran into a screen door, and there was a lot of blood, but you know, facial skin scars really easily, and after my mother bandaged me up, she got kind of annoyed she had to replace the screen and she took it out of my allowance because I was being super silly and I was running around on sock feet after she’d had the floors waxed, and she’d told me to stop and I didn’t so--.” His eyes were too intent, and his thumb was passing down past her cheekbone to the corner of her mouth, and _was he going to touch her lips_ and she tried to take a step back, but his hand didn’t move and she froze.

 

He started to lean down, but slowly, and she wondered with a touch of hysteria just _what in the hell he was doing_. They were friends! Of a kind. And maybe he helped to take care of her after she split her head open and had cooked with her, but friends did that!

 

Him bending down with his hand curved around her jaw was _not_ what friends did!

 

“Starscream?”

 

She had never been so grateful to see Skyfire in her _life_.

 

They jumped apart, Windblade now crimson while Starscream rubbed the back of his neck and didn’t make eye contact. Skyfire looked—blank, but there was a slight curl to his mouth. “I should probably take you home,” Skyfire said quietly, and was that _poison_ in his tone? “Before it gets too late.”

 

“Good plan,” Starscream mumbled.

 

“Thanks for coming by,” Windblade said politely. “I appreciate it.” Apart from what just happened because _what_.

 

“We’ll see you around,” Skyfire said, wrapping a hand around Starscream’s wrist and dragging him. “Have a good night.”

 

“You too.” Once the boys cleared her house, she slid to the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees.

 

_What_ was _that?_

 

\--

 

The last two weeks of classes passed quickly. Windblade and Starscream gave their last presentation, and while they found themselves at the same table in the library to study for their finals, she almost never met his eyes and he wondered how to fix it.

 

He’d come to like their arguing, and missed it when she stopped rising to the bait.

 

Finals, as per usual, were hell, and she was grateful when she handed in her last paper. It was time to make gingerbread and drop them off with Prime and her language advisor.

 

As much as Starscream confused her, he had been a good study partner, and for that, she should probably thank him, and he did like her cookies, so...

 

Plans made, she got to work.

 

\--

 

“Do you need a ride to campus?” Chromia called from her bedroom. Nautica was out doing some holiday shopping—her coat had died and she needed a new one.

 

“No, I’m okay! But thanks!”

 

Dorms were closing in a day, and she biked past streams of students exiting campus with all due haste. She suspected Skywarp and Thundercracker had already left, but Starscream would probably stay as long as he could before he had to go to Megatron’s. There seemed to be some tension there.

 

From a simple logistical standpoint, it made sense to stop by her language advisor and then Prime, because the language department was two floors above the social sciences department (who decided that, she _had_ no idea), and then to meander her way over to Starscream’s dorm.

 

Just to be sure he was going to be there, though, she sent him a text. _Got cookies, want some?_

 

She had just managed to lock up her bike at the right building when her phone buzzed with _OMFG YES._

So he...really liked her cookies. She tried not to read more into that than she had to.

 

Her language advisor was suitably happy with the cookies, and she left Prime’s cookies with his TA. He was apparently grading his Intro class’s exams, and she had absolutely no desire to distract him. Most professors, even the kindest ones like Prime, became _utter serial killers_ while grading exams.

 

Her stomach twisted as she biked over to Nemesis. She hadn’t wanted to be in a private space with him since Thanksgiving; she couldn’t quite get the feeling of his hand on her cheek out of her head. She’d gone over the moment again and again in her head—would he have kissed her if Skyfire hadn’t interrupted? Was she comfortable with him kissing her? She didn’t think he’d liked her that way, though she wasn’t someone who picked up on that kind of thing.

 

And what if he did? What then? He was an asshole, that much hadn’t changed—he was an asshole who routinely failed to apologize for things, and he didn’t have respect for other people’s personal space. He made everything about _him_ , and that was exhausting to be around.

 

Mind made up, she knocked briskly on his door. He didn’t like _her_ like that, he probably just wanted to bait her. He did that a lot.

 

“I just thought I’d bring you some--.” She swallowed hard as Starscream leaned against the doorframe, drinking in the sight of him shirtless. “I—uh—you--.”

 

“Doing some last minute laundry, and I didn’t realize I’d run out of actual shirts,” he said as he rested a hand in his pocket.

 

She was on eye level with his abs, and she could see how his muscles flexed as he _breathed_. “I, uh, t-thought you’d,” she peeked up at him, and he was smirking in that way that made her want to punch him.

 

“Y-you’re not c-cold?” She had to drop her eyes again, but that meant she was looking at how the planes of his hips disappeared into his jeans, and her cheeks flamed.

 

“Doing some packing.” He was scratching his neck. “Hey, can you take a look at this? I think it’s a flea bite and I know my cat isn’t flea-ridden but this angle isn’t good for me to see it myself.” He angled his neck toward her, and she could see how his Adam’s apple bobbed and the lines of his collarbones.

 

She made herself look up at it, and while it was red and swollen, she didn’t think it was a fleabite. “D-don’t know.”

 

“You said something about cookies?” he straightened, and _oh god_ his muscles flexed again.

 

Wait. Cookies. “Right!” She shoved the box at him, and he took it with that _damnable_ smirk. “Here.”

 

He let their fingers brush, and she almost yelped. “Do you want to come in? It looks like it’s about to start snowing.”

 

“N-no,” she said automatically. “I mean, um, happy Christmas. I’ll s-see you.” She turned to the right, but the elevator was on the left side of the hall, and cursing mentally, she turned all the way around to walk down the hall.

 

She pressed her hands to her face in an attempt to cool her cheeks, and she glanced down the hall to see if he’d gone back in his room.

 

He hadn’t, and he was still smirking at her. The overhead lighting that normally washed everybody out was practically turning him into fucking _Adonis_ , and she hastily turned forward again in time to press the down button.

 

He was _definitely_ fucking with her.

 

The elevator was thankfully empty, and she curled up into a ball underneath the bar in the corner. She needed to get laid. That was the only explanation. Sure, Blurr had been great, but he’d also been several weeks ago. While she wasn’t the most sexually active person, finals tended to send her senses into overdrive. _Obviously_ that was what the problem was.

 

She’d managed to find Wheeljack on Facebook after Thundercracker’s party. Maybe he’d be amenable to a one-night stand. She liked him well enough.

 

The elevator doors opened and in stepped Prowl. She jumped to her feet—or tried to. Her shoulder struck the bar and she whimpered as she straightened up. Prowl’s typical scowl smoothed into something approaching concern. “Are you all right?”

 

“I’m in the shame corner,” she blurted.

 

His eyebrows went up. “I...why?”

 

“Gingerbread,” she whimpered.

 

Prowl’s eyebrows furrowed, and then he turned around with the clear ‘ _not even going there_ ’.

 

She rubbed her shoulder as she exited the elevator and walked out—just in time to be greeted by large clumps of snow coming down. She sighed and got out her phone. There was no way she could bike home in that.

 

\--

 

Windblade picked at her chicken. They didn’t celebrate Christmas in the religious way, but they recognized the secular traditions around the holiday, complete with a large meal after the opening of presents.

 

Mother had gone all out—the chicken had been braised with pear-infused balsamic vinegar and Herbs de Provence, and the sweetness of the lavender went well with the pear infusion. The mashed potatoes were creamy but retained texture, the green beans were crisp, and the focaccia dinner rolls were the perfect combination of airy and substantive.

 

It made Windblade wary. “How was the end of your term?” she asked quietly, reaching for the peach wine her mother loved.

 

“About the same. You?”

 

“Busy as usual.” She shifted in her chair, _hating_ how her slip interacted with her dress skirt. “I handed in all of my papers and took my finals, and it appears that next semester I might be granted a reprieve from exams.”

 

“And your grades?”

 

“All As.”

 

“Wonderful.” Her mother cleared her throat. “I wanted to ask if you’ve given any more thought to coming back here after graduation and doing translation work for the seminary.”

 

Her mother wanted her to do translation work, Prime wanted her to take the LSAT...Had she not been with her mother, Windblade would have stabbed her chicken vehemently. “I’ve thought about it,” she said carefully, and she made sure to look her mother in the eye. “I’m not discounting the possibility, even though it is not my first choice.”

 

Her mother sighed slightly. “We miss you here, you know.”

 

_I don’t_. “I understand.”

 

Mother sighed again. “Have you considered what you’d like as a birthday present? It’s coming up in a few months, you know.”

 

“Actually—um—you know that Chromia picks up the majority of the rent, and I think it would be nice to replace the couch, but I need some help with it.”

 

Mother nodded. “Look through Crate and Barrel and Pottery Barn, find something you like. _Not_ the most expensive couch they sell, though, please.”

 

“I would never!”

 

“I know.” Her mother reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “I know you have to work, but it would be nice if we could see you more,” she said quietly. “I dislike the fact that you have scars I was not present for to take care of you.”

 

Windblade almost checked her temple, where her hair obscured the fading slash, but refrained at the last minute. No need to give her mother any more ammunition. “I miss you,” she admitted. That, at least, wasn’t a lie. “It’s hard to be an adult sometimes.”

 

Her mother’s face lit up with a rare smile. “The first time I found myself on my own, I struggled with myself over whether I should buy salted or unsalted butter, until I _cried_ over it. Then I went home and resolved to answer the question tomorrow.”

 

Windblade’s smile was genuine. “Mother! You told me you _never_ buy salted butter!”

 

“Well, I know that _now_.”

 

They laughed together, and for a moment Windblade relaxed over the white lace tablecloth, the glasses etched with flowers, the silver-rimmed china, and the heavy silverware she had painstakingly polished the night before.

 

Her mother cleared her throat. “Is there...anyone in your life you would like to discuss with me?”

 

And just like that, Windblade was tense again. “I’ve made a few new friends this semester, but no one romantic.” Well, Blurr wasn’t a ‘romantic’ friend, and Starscream...she pushed away the thought of him. To imagine him in her mother’s formal house was nauseating on more than one level.

 

“You just appear distracted,” her mother observed, “and given that your classes are done, it is either in regards to your future or a partner.”

 

If she took a sip of wine, her mother would _know_. “It was a stressful semester,” she said, stretching the truth _just_ slightly. “I am slightly concerned about scheduling heading into the second semester.”

 

“I wish you wouldn’t work so much,” her mother fussed, and Windblade unwound a notch or two. Distraction, achieved.

 

\--

 

“You need to do something about the Asheville house.”

 

Starscream glanced up from his plate. “Hmm?”

 

“You are currently maintaining and paying taxes on two separate properties,” Megatron’s voice was _dreadfully_ patient. “One in North Carolina, one in Virginia. Are you keeping up?”

 

“You don’t need to spell it out for me,” he groused in response as he refilled his cup.

 

“Apparently, I _do_. Tax law in North Carolina is different from tax law in Virginia, and while your inheritance can feasibly afford to maintain both for the indeterminate future--.”

 

“Then I really don’t know why we’re talking about this.”

 

“ _While your inheritance can feasibly afford to maintain both for the indeterminate future_ , you keep your residence in Virginia because it is where you will begin your political career and your parents’ house is still your first residence on paper, since dorm rooms do not carry much weight. The Asheville house, in contrast, is a residence you have not visited since you were fifteen, 8 months before your parents died, and you are now twenty-two. It’s time to sell the Asheville house and pocket the money.”

 

“Why can’t I keep it? I have good memories in that house.” _Unlike_ the Virginia house, he grumbled mentally.

 

“You will be starting in local elections, and while you can play the prodigal son card for your first city council term, the image of the prodigal son usually begins to unravel when financial records are made available for the public and the local press discovers you own _two_ residences. That truly says ‘man of the people’, don’t you think?”

 

“My parents were married in that house, it has some amazing memories for me, I can play the sentiment counter-card all day, can’t you?”

 

“Sentiment only carries so far,” Megatron warned.

 

“I have at least a year to decide,” Starscream retorted.

 

“The earlier you sell, the less it looks like a political maneuver.” Megatron rested his chin on his laced fingers. “And you need to find your political issue, the one issue you will stick with through thick and thin, so that when you’re eventually running for larger races, you will have a track record people can measure. Something that’s relevant and going to remain so, like...education or security, perhaps.”

 

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

 

“Do. You like to explore options and test people, and that’s not bad, but there are some things you need to be rooted on.”

 

“Any other political advice you’d like to hand on down, or shall we be merry and roast chestnuts by the fire?”

 

“You’re a shit.”

 

“I’ve been a shit for a _really_ long time,” Starscream held up a hand. “And I know, _I know_ , I should really work on that. In public, anyway.”

 

Megatron rolled his eyes. “You don’t want to give someone an excuse to write an exposé.”

 

“Maybe not, but we’ve known each other for a long time.”

 

“We have,” Megatron acknowledged. “And as annoyed as you make me, I’d never turn on you publicly.”

 

“Can I have that on paper, signed and notarized?”

 

“That’s the key—we support each other in public and betray each other in private.”

 

Starscream toasted him. “For all my jibes, you are my best teacher.”

 

“While we’re coasting on _that_ good feeling, I should also tell you you should settle down, get married, within three to five years of your first term. You can be single through your first term, but running for anything more important than city council and being single will make people uneasy. Marriage means stability, and people will vote for stable people.”

 

“You’re going somewhere with this.”

 

“Oh, did you notice?”

 

“I’m not ready to have that discussion. Preferably _ever_. I don’t ever want that shackle around me.”

 

“You cannot take your parents’ marriage as gospel for what marriage is,” Megatron’s voice turned into a hiss.

 

Starscream cocked his head. “And the reason you never married?” Yes, Megatron. Discuss Optimus.

 

“I never had a reason to." Bullshit. "But if you want a longstanding political career, the kind of career that leads to people naming buildings and _streets_ after you, you need to keep that in mind.” Nice deflection.

 

“Ugh, fine.”

 

“I think I’ve found a campaign manager for you. He’s not quiet—or particularly _clean_ —but he’s efficient, and better yet, he has ties in your hometown. He can lay the groundwork for your run after you graduate. You should definitely go home for a while in the summer, though. It’ll be hot as balls, but you should remind those people you exist, and you want to be helpful and useful.”

 

Starscream scrubbed his hand over his face. “You’re right. I hate it, but...you’re right.”

 

“I’ve run a few campaigns myself, did my turn in the Senate. You’ll do well, but you have to have the push.”

 

“Is there anything else?”

 

Megatron watched him, and there was something in his eyes Starscream couldn’t quite pin down. “Take urban planning and public policy. It’ll give you a greater understanding of basic logistics, and I can talk to your professor so that you can use your own hometown as your case study.”

 

“Done. Are they offered in the fall?”

 

“Coincidentally, they’re both being offered in the fall.”

 

“Yes, _quite_ a coincidence.”

 

Megatron sipped his red wine. “You know that I am available as a resource.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Good.”

 

\--

 

Her mother’s hands twisted in her coat. Mother had always preferred earth tones for her outerwear, and her coat was a light brown wool with golden undertones. It suited her—Mother was tall and lithe, and her coat fell down past her shins.

 

Whoever Windblade’s father was, she clearly inherited _his_ height.

 

“You could stay until New Year’s. I have pre-term work to do, but I can do it later, it’s all right. I just so rarely see you.”

 

Windblade’s heart twisted in her chest. Leaving was always the hardest part. She leaned forward—and onto her toes—to kiss her mother’s cheek. “I’ll call you once I’m home. You could...you could come visit me, you know?”

 

Her mother’s face wrinkled slightly in disdain before she smoothed it out. “Perhaps I will. Just to see that couch. Are you _certain_ you want a cranberry one?”

 

“It would match my coat,” she joked, but her mother’s face made the joke fall flat. “It’s on sale,” she said more quietly. “And there’s nothing wrong with the couch, functionally. It’ll also hide staining, so, yes, I’d like the cranberry one.”

 

Mother hugged her, one hand cradling the back of her head. “Be safe, love. Solus protect you.”

 

“And you.”

 

Mother kissed her forehead. “Go.”

 

Windblade managed a watery smile. “Love you.”

 

“I love you too.”

 

The bus ride back from Caminus was about four hours on a good day, six if the traffic was bad. They thankfully made it in four and a half hours, long enough for Windblade to want to get something to eat. The university bus system was still up and running—the international students were allowed to remain on campus for the winter holidays—and it picked her up at the bus station.

 

It took her another hour to get from the university bus line to home, and by the time she finally crossed her threshold, she was more grateful to be in her house with its’ peeling paint and mildew stains (she, Nautica, and Chromia had battled mildew and mold when they had first moved in, but the stains remained) than her mother’s house for all its’ crystal and china.

 

She let her duffel bag crash to the ground. Shower first, and then maybe some light dinner. Mother had packed her something to eat on the bus, but she didn’t eat well in moving vehicles.

 

She needed to call Mother, and then Chromia. She and Nautica were spending Christmas and New Year’s with Nautica’s parents, who had known about the two of them dating all along. Shifting between their families for the holidays was likely to be something they’d stick with for at least the next decade, until they decided to make it official and get married and have _at least_ two children (that she would be godmother to), at which point Nautica and Chromia’s parents would descend upon whatever house Nautica and Chromia lived in for holidays.

 

As she placed the small cooler her mother had sent with her in the fridge, she had to admit to herself that her own future was considerably murkier. Once she passed the state department exam, she would probably work holidays and come back at odd times to see her mother and Chromia and Nautica and their passel of children, bring them special presents that civilians couldn’t get from the embassy she ran.

 

There was never a partner in her future, or children. Her friendships were limited, and there were only a few she would consider keeping in contact with. She never told anyone— _anyone_ —what she envisioned for herself; she had the irrational feeling it would jinx her chances.

 

Shower, she decided. She was always maudlin after going home. Besides, she had work tomorrow. It wouldn’t do to get _too_ caught up.

 

\--

 

“The dorms are opening January 2nd. Are you heading back as soon as possible?”

 

Starscream watched as Bitch wound around Megatron’s ankles. “Probably. Skywarp and Thundercracker will be home by the 5th, and it might be nice to have the dorm to myself for two days.”

 

“You really want to pick up someone?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Ring in the New Year appropriately?”

 

“Probably.” Starscream peered at him. “Are you demanding I make myself scarce tonight?”

 

“Am I being that obvious?”

 

Starscream held up his hands. “ _Please_ do not tell me what you're planning to do tonight. My imagination can fill in nicely, thanks."

 

“Very well,” Megatron rolled his neck. “Yes, make yourself scarce tonight. Is Skyfire back yet?”

 

“No, he’s still away at his _boyfriend’s_. But I know someone I can spend the night with. I think.” Windblade was back.

 

Megatron got That Look in his eyes. “Oh? Do I know them?”

 

He shifted. “Do I want to know what you have planned with the barrel of rose petals that were delivered today?"

 

“Touché.” Megatron smirked slightly. “But that _does_ confirm it.”

 

“Oh _god_. I sincerely doubt my night will go the way yours will.”

 

“Yet hope springs eternal?”

 

“I’m leaving now.”

 

“Take that damn six-pack. I hate hard cider.”

 

“What college student turns down free booze?”

 

Megatron waved a hand at him as Bitch launched himself into his lap. “Have a good time.”

 

“I’m only saying this once— _you too_.”

 

His SUV started with a purr, and he made sure to turn the heat on. South Carolina was warmer than Virginia in the winter, but his winter coat worked just as well in both. The hard cider would stay cold once he turned off the heat and parked his car, and hopefully it would be a nice surprise for her.

 

He arrived at her place and the house was dark. He cursed and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. Of course. Of _course_ she was working on New Year’s Eve. A time he actually wanted to hang out with her—maybe even clear the air—and she was _working_.

 

He parked his car. Let's see, it was almost ten. There was no way Thunderclash’s would be open until midnight, since it wasn’t that type of restaurant. He brought up their page on his phone and saw they were closing at eleven. She would probably be home by 11:30.

 

He considered it, and decided to stay.

 

He pulled his coat tighter around himself as the wind blew, and he managed a half-wave at Windblade’s nosy neighbor, and he placed the six-pack of hard cider on Windblade’s porch before he levered himself down on the top step. The wood was cold, and he tucked his hands inside his coat. The gloves weren’t going to be enough.

 

He rested his face against the porch pillar and settled in to wait.

 

Windblade’s feet dragged against the pavement as she fumbled to find her keys. Firestar had given her a ride, but she wasn’t the only one who needed a ride and Firestar had left her at the corner.

 

“Windblade!” Mrs. Johnson waved her down, and Windblade managed a tired smile.

 

“Mrs. Johnson, I have something for you.”

 

“Oh sweetheart, that’s not--.”

 

“A tiramisu _and_ a bottle of Prosecco. I got them from work, so don’t worry about the cost, okay?” she pressed them both into Mrs. Johnson’s wrinkled hands and kissed her cheek. “Happy New Year.”

 

“Happy New Year, sweetheart, and I _am_ grateful, but that’s not what I’m trying to tell you.”

 

“What are you trying to tell me?” Her feet hurt and she wanted to go to bed.

 

“That boy of yours is sitting on your front porch. Do you want me to call my boys?”

 

Mrs. Johnson had three children: two sons and a daughter. All three of her children had their own children, and her grandchildren were all Windblade’s age. They were more than capable of removing Starscream from her house.

 

Windblade had learned early on to spot the grandmothers in her neighborhood and to get friendly. Since then, she had never had any problem, and Starscream, Skyfire, and her mother could be aggravated at the neighborhood she lived it, but she wouldn’t swap it for the most quality penthouse. That kind of loyalty couldn’t be bought.

 

She squeezed Mrs. Johnson’s arm. “I think I got it. He’s been pretty decent to me, you know?”

 

“Fine, but you holler if you need anything.”

 

“I will.”

 

“Oh, and Windblade?” Mrs. Johnson lifted the bottle of Prosecco. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re very welcome.”

 

Mrs. Johnson’s delight over the gift managed to get her on the front walk and up the porch. Sure as her neighbor had said, Starscream was sitting on her front poor, tucked against the pillar.

 

He also looked to be asleep.

 

She nudged him with the tip of her foot. “Starscream?”

 

“I’m awake.” He blinked up at her. “I bring things. Cider! I bring cider.” He lifted the six pack of hard cider, and she fought to keep the fond smile from reaching her face. “What time is it?”

 

“About 11:30. Stay here.” She stepped past him to unlock her door.

 

“Mmkay.”

 

She left her bag on the top of the couch and went to change her pants. When she came back out, she had thick blankets and her coat on. “You want to come in?”

 

“Will there be fireworks?” he asked sleepily. As if there weren’t _already_ fireworks.

 

“Probably. Mrs. Englewood’s kids love to play with fireworks.”

 

“Then out here.”

 

“Okay.” She dropped the blanket around him. “You want something to drink?”

 

He offered her hard cider, and she nudged her knee against his shoulder. “Something _hot_.”

 

“Not yet. Maybe later.”

 

“Okay.” She wound her own blanket around her shoulders and sat down next to him. He moved his arm and she didn’t even think about it, she just slid in underneath it. “How was your Christmas?”

 

“Political. Yours?”

 

“Stifled.”

 

“That’s what you get for a religious upbringing,” he reproved.

 

She pinched his hip. “You’re an asshole but not that much of an asshole.”

 

“I am exactly that much of an asshole, but fine, I will cease the potshots at your religious upbringing.”

 

“Thank you.” She tucked her head against his shoulder and he made a low humming noise.

 

“This is nice. We should do this more often.”

 

“What, sitting outside in the cold?”

 

The look he gave her could have peeled paint. “You _know_ what I mean.”

 

“Cuddling. You want to cuddle more.”

 

“You sound skeptical.”

 

“We haven’t really had that kind of relationship.”

 

“Oh _please_.” Starscream’s voice was sharp, and his arm tightened around her shoulders. “You’ve slept on me. Once that happened, cuddling is not a big deal.”

 

“I had a head injury.”

 

“You _trusted_ me enough to sleep on me.”

 

“I had a—fine. You’re right, this is kind of nice.”

 

He hummed again. “How was work?”

 

“Awful, but I didn’t expect anything else.”

 

“Why did you expect it to be awful?”

 

“Because my job is the _worst_." She was abruptly tired of stuffing it down, and the words spilled out of her mouth without thinking. "I get all the interaction and none of the responsibility of who makes the food. Yet if something’s wrong, it’s _my_ fault. I’m the one who gets screamed at, who gets stiffed on the tips. My feet almost constantly hurt, I can’t wear good clothes to work because they’ll be ruined, but at the same time I have to wear something just a shade above Old Navy standard because of the professional expectations. Frat boys get drunk and hit on me. Parents visiting their children get drunk and hit on me. I _hate_ my job.” 

 

The specter of their first meeting loomed large between them for a moment, and then he asked quietly, “Then why do you stay? Why not find another job?”

 

“Because my shifts are set and most nights, my tips are enough to pay my rent. It’s only for another year and a half. I can do this.” She was fighting hard not to yawn, and losing.

 

His arm tightened. Had he been another kind of man, he might have kissed her forehead, but he was not that man and never would be. Instead, it set wheels to turning in his head--who he could manipulate--but he put it to the side for the moment. “Are you working tomorrow?”

 

“Amazingly? No. What about you?”

 

“ _Megatron_ has a date,” he said haughtily. If she were any closer, she’d be in his lap. There wasn’t a downside there. “He asked me to vacate.”

 

“Oh god.”

 

“I know, right?” Just then, Mrs. Englewood’s boys lit up a firework, and the neighborhood lit up in bright gold. Her hand found his, and she laced their fingers together.

 

“Happy New Year,” she murmured under the roar of the fireworks.

 

“Happy New Year.”

 

The fireworks went on for the next half hour, and he watched as the neighborhood was painted in various colors. The acrid scent of firecrackers started to fill the area, and he looked down at Windblade.

 

Somehow, despite the noise and the smell, she’d managed to fall asleep, and he was going to hold it over her head _forever._ “Windblade. Windblade, wake up.”

 

She mumbled something and buried her face against his chest.

 

Like hell he was letting go of _that_. He half-turned and scooped her up into his arms, making sure to catch up the blankets. She mumbled something again, her eyes opening a little. “...Star...?”

 

“I’m taking you to bed, but it would help if you put your arms around my neck.”

 

She hummed and did so. That meant he could spare a hand to open up the screen door, and he pulled it open to take her to bed. He knew where her room was, even if he’d never spent any particular amount of time there. “I like your jawline,” she yawned, patting his jaw.

 

“Thanks?”

 

She smiled at him. “I’ve hit l-loopy ter-ritory. I probably won’t rememember this in the morning.”

 

She stumbled over her words when she was exhausted. Oh, _god_ help him. “I know.” Her bedroom door was open and her bed was made. He put her down, and he squeezed her hand. “Windblade, help me take your coat off, okay?”

 

“Mmkay.” Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of her coat, and he helped her pull it off. He knelt down to pull off her shoes, and she giggled once when his fingers touched the bottom of her feet. So she was sensitive there. Once her coat and shoes were off, she rolled into a ball, and he covered her with blankets. She caught his hand and squeezed. “Thank you, Star.”

 

He knelt down. “Don’t thank me. I had no desire to take you to the hospital because of exhaustion and hypothermia.”

 

“You always have a line about how this is really about you. M-maybe one day you won’t need the line, and then I’ll know you’re really grown up.”

 

“Maybe so.” He had to give in. He’d been not-thinking of kissing her for too long, and by her own admission, she wouldn’t remember it in the morning. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers, and she hummed. She wasn’t kissing back, but she wasn’t pulling away. Her mouth was chapped, her lips just a little too rough, but she was warm.

 

Then he pulled away and muttered, “Happy New Year’s.”

 

Her electric blue eyes were dim, and they slipped closed entirely as he moved away from her. He tucked the blankets more firmly around her, and he left the room. He was going to stay, however. He didn’t want to take her keys, and he couldn’t lock her door from the inside and leave.

 

He knew where she kept the extra blankets, and her couch was big enough for him. He just needed to retrieve the cider from the porch and put it in the fridge, then he could fall asleep.

 

Before he did, he made a note to himself to call Prime.

 

\--

 

He woke up to coffee being wafted under his nose. He blinked awake at the sight of Windblade in her leggings and scarlet sweater, her hair tied up in a ballet bun. He sat up on the couch, his hair tousled, and he took the coffee. She looked—tired, and he suddenly hated her job. “Good morning. Little surprised to see you here still.”

 

He paused in sipping the hot coffee. “Is that a bad thing?”

 

“No, just...surprised.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

She placed her hands in her lap. “You don't seem like the type to stay the night."

 

He tried to parse that sentence and failed utterly. "I didn't want to leave your door unlocked all night, and I didn't want to walk off with your house key. This seemed like the neatest solution." Did she remember that he kissed her last night?

 

"Ah. Okay. Thanks for looking out for me, Star."

 

She was calling him 'Star,' so she couldn't be mad at him. "It was nothing."

 

"Why did you come over last night?" 

 

So it was going to be Awkward Conversations R Us, New Years edition. "Megatron had a date, so I thought hassling you would be fun. 'Specially since I hadn't seen you since the dorms closed." Shit! Too close to the truth!

 

"I missed you too," she said with amusement. "What's your New Years resolution?"

 

He relaxed slightly. "To pass my classes and do kickass science. You?"

 

"I'd like to pass my classes," she said thoughtfully. "I wouldn't mind getting to know you better, either. That way you might be able to stop surprising me."

 

"Please, I will _always_ surprise you." He remembered something Megatron had used with him when he was a kid. "Okay, how about like once a week, we sit down for maybe ten minutes at the most and answer questions? Megatron did it with me when I was little, since...that's not really important. The only rule is that we have to be honest."

 

"Are you actually capable of being honest for ten minutes at a time?" she asked.

 

"Hey!"

 

"Regardless, it doesn't sound like a bad idea." She stood up and offered him her hand. "C'mon, I'll make you breakfast."

 

" _Excellent_ plan." 

\--

 

“I was hardly expecting you to visit my office,” Optimus said with a small frown. “You’re not in my department.”

 

“But someone else is.” Starscream settled into the chair in front of Optimus’ desk and propped his feet up on the desk. He reveled in the slight twitch of Optimus’ eye, and then Optimus decided to ignore it and sit down. “You’re still looking for someone to fill your TA position, right? Since your TA decided on a December commencement instead of a May one.”

 

“...yes. I have a few promising candidates, but unfortunately--.”

 

“Unfortunately the position has already been filled.”

 

“...excuse me?”

 

“You’re going to hire Windblade.”

 

“What?”

 

Starscream leaned forward to pick up the Rubik's cube. “Oh, I know, you usually hire graduate students, but you _do_ know what her typical schedule is, right?”

 

“I fail to see--.”

 

“Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, she works a shift at Thunderclash’s from 6pm to 11pm, 6pm to 10pm on Saturdays so they can keep her at part-time. She also takes four classes, all work intensive. She doesn’t have a vehicle and sees her mother once a year, for four days at Christmas, because she can’t afford to take any more time off work and still keep her rent check paid. Hell of a work ethic, don’t you think?”

 

“Well, yes, but--.”

 

“And it would be a shame,” Starscream interrupted, “to have one of your star students—a student that pays for a private education at this _very_ elite university through her hard work and merit-and-need-based scholarships—collapse due to overwork and stress, wouldn’t it?” He sat upright and swung his legs off Optimus’ desk. “It would be a hell of a case in local and national papers. It could even be used to further the national conversation about how college education costs are driving college students to further and further extremes. The way I see it, you have an opportunity here.”

 

“And that opportunity is...to make her my TA.” Optimus’ eyes were flinty; Starscream guessed he had looked similarly when he was debating in the UN.

 

Starscream examined his nails. “Your professional career was built on your work with Megatron."

 

“I—excuse me?”

 

“You two have saved each other politically and academically since you started work here. How much of a scandal would it be if it came out that you two were together while he was a senator on the Defense committee while you were the US ambassador to the UN? That's a pretty significant conflict of interest, wouldn't you agree?"

 

"It's several decades old."

 

Starscream waved that off. "Enough of the Reagan generation is around that it would still be a thing. Then when you consider how closely your academic work has been tied over the last two decades, well...nothing would have be leaked, merely implied." It was a gamble, one Optimus could call--Starscream would  _never_ risk losing Megatron's political clout, not when he needed it to jumpstart his own career, but what mattered was that Optimus believed him, and Optimus had always accepted him as face value and had never truly looked deeper.

 

“You’re willing to end my considerable academic career, as well as your foster-father’s, for a girl you barely know. You don’t cherish anyone that much.” Optimus sat back, and  _that_  was the Optimus Starscream preferred to know—the calculating politician behind the affable academic. He could engage with the calculating politician; the affable academic less so. 

 

It was also true, but he didn't need to know that.

 

“I have absolutely no desire to fight with her schedule in order to work with her in History of Law II. Oh, she doesn’t know I’m in that class, not yet, but she will. She’s intimated she’s one cold away from pneumonia, and that could quite entirely kill her. Wherever I end up, having a diplomat in my contacts can only help me. Let’s make sure the schooling doesn’t kill her first.”

 

“So it’s really all about you.” Optimus's voice was cold enough to break iron.

 

“Of course.” He wasn’t even lying when he added, “When is it not?” He started to get up. “Oh, and make sure her salary is something approaching 2 grand per month after taxes.”

 

Optimus watched him go with a frown. Somewhere, there was a paradigm shift. Perhaps Megatron would know where it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hate to be the author that begs for comments, but this weekend I have a really terrible homework assignment, and hearing if the humor works or if you all liked something would honestly make my weekend. So please, if you have the time, drop a line.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thanks so much to everyone who commented on the last chapter. My weekend was hellish for more reasons than one, and those comments went a long way toward my general feelings about the universe. 
> 
> Second of all, of this entire fic, I actually think this is my favorite part. Not to say that I don't enjoy the other parts--I do--but this part is largely uncomplicated, and the remaining parts after this are _hugely_ complicated. There will be a corresponding one-shot that I'll probably post a little later this week, and it will be nonstop sweetness. As I was writing this fic, the understanding of how little we see Windblade smile in canon really struck me. I knew she was reserved from the get-go, but I can count on one hand how many times we've seen her smile, _really_ smile, and still have fingers left over. I don't think we've seen her laugh. So this is for her, honestly--the girl deserves some happiness. 
> 
> Perceptor's face claim is [here](http://www.donmarwarehouse.com/~/media/Images/Gallery/Web/Productions/2013/Coriolanus%20Production%20Photos/Alfred%20Enoch%20Titus%20Lartius%20in%20rehearsal%20for%20Coriolanus%20Photo%20by%20Manuel%20Harlan.ashx?mh=500).
> 
> Brainstorm's face claim is [here (Michael Aguerro)](http://www.couponmamacita.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/mcfarlandpratts4-e1424704682873.jpg).

**PART SIX**

**_Then:_ **

****

**_January & February_ **

 

It felt like Windblade’s heart was jumping all over the place as she waited outside Optimus’ office. He had sent her a message yesterday afternoon, asking to meet before her first class. She didn’t think she was in trouble, but maybe there was some grade irregularity? Her mind was racing through all of the possibilities—or at least, all of the negative ones.

 

“Please, Windblade, come in. Don’t look so worried! You’re not in trouble.”

 

She gripped her bag’s handle more tightly as she followed him inside, and he gestured for her to sit down. “As you no doubt know, my graduate assistant graduated in December, and I find myself without an adequate TA.” Optimus’ eyes were kind, but she felt examined nonetheless.

 

“I—was aware your TA had graduated, but I hadn’t thought it would take you so long to find someone to fill their position.” She shifted in her seat.

 

“Well. Neither did I. But I found that when I went looking, the majority of the graduate students are in their fourth or fifth year, meaning they’ve already found their teaching jobs or professors to be the graduate assistants to. The rest of those in the international studies program are first and second year students, and those are their master’s coursework years, so they are not quite prepared to take on a job yet.”

 

She suspected where he was going, but she wasn’t entirely sure _how_ he was getting there. “Professor...?”

 

“I would like to offer the job to you. I understand that your current work schedule is difficult for you to manage and there are multiple sacrifices you have to make in order to pay your bills, and this position would likely pay you more than your current job. It also enables a discount on your tuition, and you would qualify for better coverage through the school’s health insurance.”

 

She blinked. That was...incredibly generous. “I—um--.”

 

“Scheduling between us would obviously be at our discretion, but it would assist your research, as well as making you a more attractive candidate for any kind of graduate school.” Optimus’ smile was gentle.

 

She swallowed hard. “Sir, I didn’t even apply. I didn’t even know I could.”

 

“I’ve been following your work, especially since you’ve announced your double-major. I really am very proud of you.”

 

A lump rose in her throat. “I—I--.”

 

“You do not have to decide right now,” he hastened to assure her. “I mean it.”

 

“Oh, no! I’d like the job. I just need to give my week’s notice at my current place.”

 

“And I will have paperwork for you to fill out, so perhaps you could come by tomorrow morning?”

 

“I can do that.” She nodded, a smile threatening to crack her face in multiple pieces. “I’m sorry, but I have class in twenty minutes--.”

 

“No, no, please.” He rose and so did she, and he offered his hand. She clasped it in both of her own, excitement threatening to reduce her to delighted giggling.

 

“Thank you so much, Professor.”

 

He squeezed her hand back. “It is the least I can do.”

 

She practically skipped to History of Law II, and the brief stab of irritation at seeing Starscream (when he _hadn’t informed her he was taking the class_ ) passed quickly in the face of her jubilation. Professor Magnus hadn’t come in yet, and she sat down next to Starscream and vibrated.

 

He glanced at her. “What crawled up your--.”

 

“I’m going to stop you right there,” she scolded, the words having absolutely no impact since she was so cheerful. “Professor Prime offered me a _job!_ ”

 

“Oh?”

 

“It would be better than my current job,” she sung under her breath, nudging him with her shoulder. He was smirking at her, but not a mean smirk. “He’ll have paperwork for me tomorrow, but oh my _god_ , I could quit my job!”

 

“I’m happy for you. Really.”

 

She leaned against him more fully. “I know. You’re jumping for joy on the inside.”

 

“Oh definitely.”

 

Professor Magnus entered the room and she sat upright as Professor Magnus bestowed the class with a slight smile. “So welcome to all of you who lived through the difficulty of History of Law I and decided to take on the greater challenge of History of Law II. I salute all ten of you.”

 

Windblade’s lips quirked in a smile.

 

“The legacy of History of Law I remains in that you will all have partners and a given topic, but this time, you can pick your partners and your topic from the given list. The cultures we cover within this class are different, because once we go beyond canon law—the first formalized international law—we will start to discuss how colonialism and imperialism shaped law systems, and that will take up the bulk of the class. I’ve structured the class so that we’ll get there by mid-February and then we’ll progress through it much more slowly through the end of the semester. We will not be covering it with the speed of the first class. Any questions thus far?”

 

As Magnus continued to go through the assignment list—it was pretty much a copy of what they did in the fall, right down to the final paper—Starscream leaned over. “You wanna work together?” he asked quietly. “We’ve— _I_ —found that we work well together.”

 

She didn’t know anyone else in the class beyond Prowl, who was sitting in the front and looking forbidding, so it wasn’t a loss for her to turn and say, “Yeah, okay.”

 

They both faced forward again, and she peeked up at him. He was doing the half-smile thing, and her cheeks warmed slightly. Still caught up in the heat of the moment—she could quit her _job_ —she reached for his hand under the desk and squeezed it.

 

He turned his hand over so he could weave their fingers together, and her cheeks warmed further. They stayed that way through the end of class, until Professor Magnus called for them to sign up their partners. They would get their topics on Wednesday, but it helped to have their partners already decided, apparently.

 

“When’s your next class?” Starscream wanted to know once they left. It was bracing outside of the social sciences building, and she hunched down further into her coat. Maybe she should invest in mittens. Maybe that would help.

 

“At one. It’s International Economics. Tomorrow, I’ve got Politics and Economics of East Asia, and then Friday is my honors seminar.”

 

“I’ve got International Law tomorrow morning, and then The Galaxy and the Interstellar Medium this afternoon. My astrophysics research period counts for six credits as long as I present research at the symposium the university is sponsoring in late March.”

 

“Oh. Wow.”

 

He waved a hand. “It’s been what Skyfire and me have been working on since last summer. We’re just pulling it together in a research paper.”

 

“Question—why double-major with astrophysics and political science? Those are such...”

 

“Politics is what I do, astrophysics is what I love. I can make a more powerful impact with politics, and I rather hate working with the science field in general. At least everyone who works politics is as much of an asshole as I am.”

 

“Scientists can’t be assholes?” She raised her brows at him.

 

He shrugged. “They can be, but they’re _earnest_ assholes, and that’s worse.”

 

She snorted. “I—can imagine.” They crossed over the threshold of the law library, oh that home away from home. “I meant to ask—you have your own car? Is it new?”

 

“Oh, god no. It’s like three years old, but I keep it at Megatron’s place so I don’t have to pay the cost of the campus parking pass. I don’t really go off campus unless I’m going stargazing or whatever, and Skyfire’s truck is better for that anyway.”

 

“Oh.” She weighed the options.

 

“What do you wanna ask?” he sighed, opening the door to a study room for her.

 

“You seem to like your independence,” she told him as she sat down at the small desk and took out the textbook. He sat opposite her and unpacked his laptop. “I don’t get why you’d willingly curtail it. You borrow Thundercracker and Skyfire’s cars with impunity.”

 

“Only when they know about it, 1. 2, I only borrow it when they don’t need it.”

 

“But there was that time where you borrowed Thundercracker’s car when he didn’t know about.”

 

“When was that?”

 

“When you came to visit me that one day, and we cooked together...?”

 

“Oh right. Yeah, no, he knew about it. He didn’t need it.”

 

“But you told me--.”

 

“I like to fuck with you.”

 

She blew a raspberry at him. “So I don’t know about you, but I would really like _not_ to do marriage law again.”

 

“Criminal law could be fun.”

 

“There’s so many aspects of criminal law, and Magnus is going to go through canon law and then into how colonialism and imperialism affected law. Maybe we should find something super specific to focus on.”

 

“Like murder? Or theft?”

 

“Property rights.” She propped her chin on her hand. “The definition of property is fucked up and has a really fucked up history, depending entirely on the time and context. So there would be a lot to unpack there.”

 

He leaned back. “That would work.”

 

“I mean, Magnus is gonna let us pick our topics since we apparently braved History of Law I, and how property is defined changes according to _what_ is being discussed and _who_ is doing the discussion.”

 

“You know, one thing that I really appreciate about Magnus is that this class isn’t really Eurocentric in focus. It would be so easy to do it that way, Western European law is easier to trace, but he’s not doing that.”

 

“It can be harder,” she agreed, “and some of the cases I brought to you last semester I had to do the translating myself, which was a little hard because the modern iterations of the languages are different than their ancient roots, but it’s not _impossible_.”

 

He paused. “What?”

 

“Oh, the Japan and China cases I translated. There was a translation, but it was awful, so I went back and redid the translation.”

 

“You...redid the translation.”

 

“Did you forget I’m a languages major?” She tilted her head. “With an emphasis in East and Southeast Asian languages?”

 

He blinked at her. “Nooo, but I didn’t see the application in that way. Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

It was her turn to smirk. “You didn’t ask. You just took the translations and moved on.”

 

“...right. Moving along. So.” He leaned forward. “When do you start working for Prime?”

 

“Next week, I think. I need to give my week’s notice tonight when I get in.”

 

“So this week is your typical schedule?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And that would make...Saturday your last night.”

 

“I think??”

 

“So. Sunday. Food? By then we should have our topic and we can get to work on the first presentation.”

 

“Your place or mine?”

 

“Yours, I think. Skywarp’s finally decided on a major, mostly because he realized both me and Thundercracker are graduating next year and he wants to graduate with us. He’s been throwing a variety of temper tantrums about the amount of work he has to do to catch up.”

 

“ _Oh_ , yeah, let’s skip that.”

 

“Will your roommates be around?”

 

“Yeah. They came back about five days ago. Chromia has to work the next two weeks without a day off, and Nautica’s got a job in the Engineering Department, but she has the weekends off.”

 

“So Chromia won’t be around.”

 

“No, not really.”

 

“And your other roommate will leave us alone.”

 

She thought about it. “Probably? She has a lot of work to catch up on.” Knowing Nautica, she probably _would_ stay in her bedroom but come out occasionally for something to eat. “Why does it matter?”

 

“It can get...intense.”

 

Since they ‘discussed’ (read: _argued_ ) about a lot of their information. “Oh. Right. Yeah, she’ll give us some space.”

 

“I was also thinking we could do one of those ten-minute sessions there.”

 

10 minute...right. “That would probably be okay,” she ran her hand over her hair pins and adjusted one. “She’s got sound-canceling headphones, since she likes to listen to angry banjo music while she studies.”

 

“Mumford and Sons?”

 

“Mumford and Sons.”

 

Starscream looked down at the textbook. “We are officially the overachievers.”

 

She grinned. “You shouldn’t be so surprised.”

 

\--

 

Nautica’s bedroom door opened with a crash and Windblade sailed through to flop down on Nautica and Chromia’s bed. “So how was your first day back?”

 

Nautica put down the journal article she was editing. “Fine. You look like you have something to say.”

 

Windblade rolled over to kick her heels in the air and prop her elbows on the bed. “Professor Prime offered me a job!”

 

“Wait, like a research assistant kind of gig?”

 

“Kind of. I’d be doing all the stuff a graduate TA does, with the paycheck and the health insurance.”

 

“Wait, you’re performing the work of a graduate assistant?” Nautica turned her chair to look at Windblade. “Did you apply for that job?”

 

“No.”

 

“So he just offered.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You don’t find that weird?”

 

“A little,” Windblade turned so she could sit upright and started to pull the pins from her hair. “But honestly, I’m just glad it’s happened. I hate my job, you know that.”

 

“I know you’ve tried to keep it down, but now you have a reason not to.” Nautica put aside the journal to sit next to Windblade. She nudged her shoulder, and Windblade obediently turned her back so that Nautica could pull out the rest of the pins. “From what I know about Prime, he’s not the type to pull pranks, so it’s clearly coming from a good place. But I still kind of want to know what spurred it.”

 

“He said it was my work ethic.” Windblade’s hair fell around her shoulders, and Nautica teased out the last of the pins. Windblade leaned against her, and Nautica looped an arm around her diaphragm. “I want this to be real,” she murmured after some time. “I want him to be offering me this incredible opportunity because I deserve it, not because someone arranged it. I need this to be real.”

 

Nautica rested her chin on the top of Windblade’s head. “I know, Windy. I’ll shut up.”

 

“No, no, I appreciate it. I mean that. I’m just--.”

 

“Think about it this way. If someone arranged it—and that’s a big if, since Prime doesn’t really let himself be manipulated _ever_ —then it means someone cares about you enough to want something better for you. Either way, you still win.”

 

“I’d still prefer to deserve this.”

 

“I know.” Nautica squeezed her. “Let’s go get something to eat before you crawl into bed, okay?”

 

“Good plan.” Windblade pushed herself off the bed and proffered her hand for the pins. Nautica dropped them, and Windblade tucked them into her pocket. “Grilled cheese?”

 

“Easy and simple?”

 

“I don’t want a lot of chewing.”

 

“That is totally fair.” Windblade pushed herself to sit on top of the counters while Nautica got out the butter and the cheese. “So tell me about your job? And your day?”

 

“My job is working with Brainstorm and Perceptor in the engineering lab. It’s mostly following after the two and keeping Brainstorm from setting the building on fire and keeping Percy from _murdering_ Brainstorm, but I have time for my own projects, and hey! I’m getting paid for it, so hell yeah! Besides, when Brainstorm’s not being self-destructive and Percy’s not being cold as hell, it’s actually fun.”

 

“You should give me the room number. I’ll actually have time to bring by lunch and cookies and stuff.”

 

“That would be awesome. Though Brainstorm might think you’re the mysterious girlfriend.”

 

“Chromia would kill him.”

 

“Which is why they will not be meeting any time soon.”

 

“I’m not telling him I’m your girlfriend.”

 

“I’m not gonna ask you to.”

 

“Good.” Windblade rested the back of her head against the cabinet. “Not that I couldn’t be attracted to you--.”

 

“Oh same.”

 

“But that year we were roommates--.”

 

“Settled us as pure best friends and nothing else.”

 

“Yeah, exactly.” Windblade grinned as Nautica turned on the gas for the frying pan. “I have missed you so much.”

 

“Aw, I’ve missed you too.” Nautica let the first sandwich rest in the frying pan and went to find a spatula. “Let me tell you, hiking all over Europe makes you _really_ appreciate toilets.”

 

“Oh, I _bet_.”

 

“I am so glad I didn’t get an infection of some kind.”

 

“Ewww, don’t tell me that while you’re _cooking_.”

 

Nautica laughed. “So squeamish?”

 

“ _Yes_.” Windblade moved over so that Nautica could get plates down without braining her. “So did your traipse across the European wilderness bring you closer together with Brainstorm and Perceptor?”

 

“Stormy, yeah. Percy spent most of the trip being quietly miserable, but he started to warm up once we got closer to the Santiago de Compostela--.”

 

“And it actually got warmer?”

 

“Just a bit.” She gave the first plate to Windblade and started on the second sandwich. “So it was both a metaphorical and physical warming up.”

 

Windblade started to eat. “So. Coursework? Yay or nay?”

 

“Yay, mostly. I have to adjust to having actual coursework again, since my internship was largely fixing whatever I could get my hands on, but Stormy’s promised me he’ll help.”

 

“I think I’ll still be stressed this semester,” Windblade reflected, “but it should be better once I don’t have to deal with nasty people.”

 

“Oh yeah. So, hey, Windy--.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“There a day you could actually bring those sandwiches by?”

 

“It won’t be this week,” Windblade warned. “Maybe next week or the week after.”

 

Nautica kissed her cheek. “Thanks.”

 

“No problem.”

 

\--

 

Starscream hummed to himself as he bounced on his heels on Windblade’s porch. He was running just a little late, but judging from the tiny car in the driveway, her roommates were home so the door was likely to be locked. Snow lay on the ground—class was likely to be cancelled the next day, since the snow was actually sticking and the school was in South Carolina, the region where people did not know how to deal with snow.

 

One of the roommates’ opened the door—Nautica?—and beamed at him. “Windy said you were coming by! She’s napping right now, but she should be up soon. Chromia and me are going out to dinner, so you two will have the house to yourselves.” She eyed him. “For _just_ studying.”

 

“Oh please.” He put down his laptop bag on top of the couch and Nautica ambled back into the kitchen.

 

“She should be getting up soon—last night ran a little longer than she meant, and she had a terrible headache by the time she got home. She got up briefly this morning to eat something and then went back to bed. Be gentle, okay?” Nautica looked up from her engineering homework. “She’s better now but she’ll be just a little slower than normal.”

 

“I’ll go wake her up.”

 

“Dude, that is the opposite—dude!”

 

He ignored her as he pushed open Windblade’s door. As Nautica had said, she was curled up under her blankets, her hair in a loose bun and indicating where her head was. The covers were lumpy, and he knelt down to rest on his haunches. He placed his hand roughly where he expected her shoulder to be, and he squeezed it. “Windblade.”

 

She groaned and moved under the covers so he could actually see her face.

 

He squeezed her shoulder again, enjoying how her eyes flutter. “Windblade. It’s time to get up.”

 

“No,” she exhaled, her eyelids cracked open just slightly. “M’not leaving.”

 

“We have work to do.”

 

She batted at his hand on her shoulder. “M’not leaving my bed.” She turned her back on him to prove her point.

 

He considered her as she rubbed her face against the pillow. “Fine.”

 

“Mm?” She tilted her head up so she could glance at him over her shoulder.

 

“Fine. You don’t have to leave your bed.”

 

“Good.” She resettled her head against the pillow.

 

“But you need to move over.” He tugged off his coat and started to toe off his boots.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I’m getting in too.” He nudged her and she moved over instinctively. He slid under the covers and settled his head onto the pillow, and she grumbled at him before she rolled onto her back.

 

“This is a gross invasion of my privacy,” she complained. “And my bed’s a little too small for this.”

 

“Oh, I’m comfortable.” He moved his hands behind his head.

 

“ _I’m not_.”

 

“That’s nice.”

 

“Why are you in my bed, Starscream?”

 

“I told you. You won’t get out, so I got in.” Amusement was fizzling down his nerves. “Besides, I like it here. It’s almost like I belong here.”

 

She shoved him, but it wasn’t a good enough angle to push him out of her bed. “You’re the worst.”

 

“Just a little.” He shuffled on the bed to place himself more comfortably. “You don’t usually take naps.”

 

“Headaches are awful.”

 

“You still have it?”

 

“Not really.” She sighed. “Are you going to leave?”

 

“Once you’re ready to.”

 

“Fine, I’m ready to.”

 

“No, you’re not. You just want me out.”

 

“Am I really so transparent?”

 

“Careful, your face could freeze that way,” he warned.

 

She elbowed him. “Well, since we’re stuck here until you feel that I’m properly ready to get out of my bed, which, _I love that you’re deciding that for me_ , wanna take those ten minutes now?”

 

“You sure?”

 

“I sure as hell am not sleeping on you. I don’t sleep well with other people in the bed.”

 

“Is that why you typically don’t take people to bed?” he snarked.

 

“It’s typically why I don’t stay the night.” She managed to roll herself onto her side so she could look at him. “Nice deflection, by the way. A-. I had to take some points off since I saw right through you.”

 

“Fine. What do you want to know?”

 

She hummed. “You’ve told me a little bit about your parents—your mom sent you to a boarding school--.”

 

“Two boarding schools, actually.”

 

“—okay, and they died when you were sixteen. Any _good_ memories?”

 

He thought about it. “Yeah, a few. My father developed technology for NASA, but his first degree was in astronomy. When I was about six, we went down to the Asheville house for Christmas, and it must’ve snowed just about every day except for New Year’s Eve. Part of the roof is flat, and I remember my father waking me up at midnight to take me onto the roof. The sky was just—as clear as it could be, and he had his telescope set up. He showed me the constellations and the planets, and it was—amazing.”

 

“Is that why you chose astrophysics?”

 

“A big part of it. Your turn.”

 

“What do you want to know?” she rolled back onto her back. “A good memory with my mother?”

 

“Do you really believe in all of the Solus stuff?” He wanted to use ‘nonsense’ but that wouldn’t set the right tone.

 

She was quiet for a moment as she turned the question over in her head. “My mother’s been running the Forge of Solus since I was little. Friday nights are the lecture nights, and she would have an aide watch me in the chapel while she would lecture. I’d sit there and color or play with my toys, but I always had to be quiet. I must’ve been nine or ten, but I woke up abruptly, like someone had touched me. My room in my mother’s house has a large window, and the way the moonlight filled my room that night was...I knew I needed to go down into the chapel.”

 

He wasn’t entirely sure where this was going, but he sensed if he interrupted her, she would never finish the story.

 

“While the Church of Solus—that’s what it’s officially called—is austere, we do believe in beauty in craftsmanship, and in my mother’s chapel, there’s a crystal forge that was donated. It sits on the main table at the front of the chapel, and the anvil is made of onyx, with the hammer being smoky quartz and the bellows agate. It sits on a plinth of red and yellow quartz, and it’s just absolutely beautiful. I’ve loved it since I recognized it was a forge. There are stained glass windows on either side of the chapel so there’s always sunlight coming through in the various symbols of Solus, and that night was full moon, so the chapel was as lit up as it could’ve been. The light was hitting the forge and sending light all over the chapel, and I was just overcome.” She breathed in deeply. “My mother’s faith consumes her. She’s the Mistress of Flame first and everything else second, and that frightened me as a child. When I saw the chapel lit up that night, for the first time I understood, and...I felt Her touch.”

 

“Your mother’s?”

 

“No. _Solus_. Her touch felt maternal and warm, but there was some sternness there, too. She told me _‘I have given you the gift of song.’_ I’ve never heard Her voice again, but I’ve _felt_ Her.”

 

He paused. “Can you sing?”

 

She laughed. “Amazingly, no. I’ve puzzled over what She meant for years, I’ve consulted the texts and everything, but I’ve always assumed that I will understand it in time.”

 

“There’s other explanations.”

 

“I’ve considered them, but...I’ve still felt Her. And before you ask, yes, I’ve questioned myself to be sure the sensations came from outside myself, and if you don’t believe, that’s fine, you don’t _have_ to. Solus doesn’t believe in proselytization, and neither do I. The point is, _I_ believe, and that’s what matters for this story.”

 

“I’ve never understood the need to believe.”

 

“I get that about you,” she said tranquilly. “Don’t shit on my life just because you don’t get it.”

 

He wrinkled his nose.

 

She nudged him. “With that, our ten minutes are done. You wanna move now?”

 

“I _guess_ I could.”

 

“Thank you for doing the bare minimum,” she snarked.

 

“Well, if _that’s_ your argument...” he started to roll over to her side of the bed, and she put her hands up.

 

“I was joking!”

 

He grinned. “That’s what I thought.” He got out of bed, shivering slightly. The room was just a little too cold.

 

“Can you get my sweatshirt?” she snuggled further under the blankets. “It’s in the closet on top of the drawers.”

 

Her closet door was open, and organized by color. Amused despite himself, he found the heavy knitted sweater she usually wore, and he brought it back to her. She pulled it under the covers and struggled with it while he examined her bookshelves. It was about what he expected—grammars and histories of various languages and cultures, and then she had several shelves dedicated to international relations and political theories. If she’d read all of the books on her shelves, then she was more well-read in political theory than he’d thought. International relations were the political science concentration without the hardcore political theory, after all.

 

He _did_ note she didn’t have Megatron on her shelves. That cheered him slightly.

 

“Admiring my library?” she inquired, brushing her shoulder against his. He looked her over—she was rebraiding her hair, and she wore thick leggings and...he blinked. _Bright_ blue fuzzy socks.

 

“Yes, actually. Howard Zinn?”

 

“I appreciate his take on history.” She shrugged, pushing her braid over her shoulder. “I wish I had more time to read—I started Ron Chernow’s _Alexander Hamilton_ before Christmas but I haven’t made a lot of progress.”

 

“You might have more free time now,” he reminded her.

 

She brightened. “You’re right! So maybe.”

 

He glanced down at her. “To work then?”

 

She nodded. “Let’s get started.”

 

\--

 

“I need these tests graded, it’s easy, just type in my code to the Scantron machine, and then I need about 150 copies of this.” Optimus looked up at Windblade over the rim of his glasses with a small smile. “Once that’s done, we’re done for the day.”

 

She nodded, hugging the Scantrons to her chest. “I’ve answered what emails I could and those I couldn’t I forwarded directly to you. The notes for your Intro to International Politics class have already been copied and it’s in the outbox tray.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“I will be back.” She excused herself and Optimus looked back down at the essays he was grading.

 

“She’s gone, you can come in.”

 

“I hadn’t quite expected for you to hire an undergrad student as your TA,” Megatron made himself comfortable on the chair, and Optimus squelched the tiny flare of irritation at how similar his posture was to Starscream’s.

 

“Really? Considering it was _your_ protégé who demanded I do so?”

 

“Wait, _what_?”

 

“I was equally thrown, considering he was willing to toss your political career under the bus had I not done so.”

 

Megatron leaned forward. “I need you to explain. _Now_.”

 

“ _Your_ protégé came to me, two days before classes began, and laid a compelling case for me to hire Windblade. All of his reasoning was sound and I was more than happy to consider it, but then he threatened to bring our relationship to light as a ‘final incentive.’ That if I refused, our entire combined body of work, including our political careers, would be thrown under harsh scrutiny, and though he didn’t have to say it, there was a very good chance we would lose our tenure, our jobs, and whatever influence we still possess.” Optimus took off his glasses and folded them off to the side. “I can appreciate that he is your protégé and he has learned ruthlessness at your right hand, but there are _limits_ , Megatron.”

 

“He was willing to betray _me?_ ”

 

“You’re surprised?” The anger that had simmered since Starscream had sashayed into his office came to a head. “Everything is about him and what _he_ wants.”

 

“No. He was willing to betray _me_ over a girl he hasn’t even--.” Megatron’s eyes flickered. “I need to speak to him.”

 

“Do so. In the meantime, my TA, who is a lovely girl and deserves _none_ of what surrounds him like poison, will be coming back and I highly doubt either of us would like her to overhear this.”

 

“No, that _would_ be a shame.” Megatron’s voice curdled with viciousness. “Excuse me.”

 

”Oh, I’m sorry!” Optimus heard a crash and he got up. From what it looked like, Megatron had violently pulled the door open just as Windblade had leaned against it, and papers were everywhere. She was flat on the floor with a look of bemusement, and Megatron’s anger had switched off as soon as she’d fallen down.

 

“I’m okay,” she said faintly, taking Megatron’s hand to stand up. “I need to put those papers back together though.”

 

“Windblade, this is Professor Megatron. Megatron, this is Windblade.”

 

“Prof— _oh_.” To his surprise, Windblade reddened slightly. “We’ve never been formally introduced.”

 

“Indeed not,” Megatron agreed, offering his hand again. She took it and shook it once before returning to pulling the copies together. “Optimus, we’ll talk later.”

 

“Yes. Do let me know how that meeting goes.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Megatron left the office, and Optimus knelt to assist with gathering the last of the copies. “Are you all right?”

 

“Little winded, but I’ve had worse.” She flashed him a quick smile. “Was that a productive meeting?”

 

“As much as it can be.” He took the copies from her. “Go, enjoy your weekend. Don’t come in on Monday; I’m planning on sleeping through Martin Luther King Jr day; I suggest you do the same.”

 

She giggled. “Yes sir.”

 

She went over to her desk to pull her bag together, and he cleared his throat. “You’ve been handling this well?”

 

She frowned at a notebook before glancing at him. “Oh, yes! I have no complaints. Besides, you’re wonderful to work with.”

 

“Good. If you have any issues, please, come talk to me.”

 

She nodded. “I will. Have a good weekend, sir.”

 

“Have a good weekend, Windblade.”

 

\--

 

“Sto- _rmy_ , it’s MLK Day! Take a _break_.”

 

“I am _so close_ to figuring out this one application,” Brainstorm protested. “Besides, _Perceptor’s_ still working.”

 

“Because he’s married to his console,” Nautica said firmly.

 

“I resent that remark,” Perceptor said mildly.

 

“C’mon, they’re playing _Selma_ out on the quad tonight and I wanna go! Wrap it up!”

 

“Not until Perceptor does,” Brainstorm grumbled.

 

Nautica turned to Perceptor in frustration. “Can you _please_ go home to your boyfriend so Brainstorm will stop being so petty?”

 

“I cannot stop Brainstorm from being petty,” Perceptor intoned. “In any case, my boyfriend is working on a project with _his_ lab partner, and Starscream is possessive.”

 

“Who’s possessive?” Nautica whirled to the door to see Windblade come through it with a platter in her hands.

 

“Starscream,” Brainstorm grumped. “Apparently.”

 

Perceptor broke away from his microscope as Windblade rolled her eyes. “Yes, he is,” she agreed. “He once told me he deserved my time when we were working on something for class. Here, I have sandwiches.”

 

Nautica lit up, not fully ignorant to how Perceptor was sizing Windblade up. “What kind of sandwiches?”

 

“Turkey, mostly. Is that amenable?”

 

Windblade was _teasing_. _Windblade_ had gotten a full night’s sleep; it had been a while since Nautica had seen Windblade’s eyes that bright. Nautica skipped over to her to take the platter, and she beamed. “And cookies too! Hell _yes_.”

 

“Madeleines,” Windblade said fondly. “Made with vanilla and lemon.”

 

“Since almond extract will cause you to go into anaphylactic shock.” Nautica snagged a madeleine, but Windblade smacked the back of her hand.

 

“Sandwich first, you heathen!”

 

“Who’s this?” Brainstorm asked interestedly.

 

“Oh, sorry. Stormy, Perceptor, this is Windblade, my best friend and roommate.”

 

“Windblade. Ah.” Perceptor cleared off an area for Nautica to put down the platter.

 

“Percy here is dating Skyfire, Windy.”

 

“Oh! It’s lovely to meet you.” Windblade’s eyes twinkled as she offered her hand to Perceptor. “I’ve heard a bit about you, I presume that’s how you know Starscream?”

 

“Unfortunately,” Perceptor sighed. Perceptor’s handshakes were limp as a general rule, but Nautica had seen him punch someone while on pilgrimage. “Skyfire’s told me a little bit about you, as well.”

 

“Oh god,” Windblade laughed.

 

“All good things, I assure you.” Perceptor drifted over to the sandwich platter. “You brought sandwiches?”

 

“Nautica told me that you all would be working today since you didn’t have class, and I didn’t want you all to go hungry in pursuit of science. I’m supposed to be meeting Starscream in an hour, so I can’t linger.” Windblade smiled slightly. “You all are on your own for drinks, however.”

 

“That we can handle.” Nautica nudged Brainstorm. “Go help yourself, Stormy.”

 

Windblade leaned against the counter. “This is also your reminder to take breaks and to pace yourself,” she teased. “Headaches are bad, etcetera etcetera.”

 

“Win- _dy_.” Nautica pranced over to her and wrapped an arm around her waist. “You’re, like, the _last_ person to talk about pacing yourself.”

 

“Nautica, they just met me, they still think I’m responsible,” Windblade scolded.

 

Brainstorm tittered. “Too late.”

 

“Oh shoot.”

 

Perceptor offered her a thin razor of a smile. “I have not yet been so corrupted.”

 

“Good, I like you.” Windblade checked her phone. “Crap, I have to go. Sorry, y’all.”

 

“It’s all good.” Nautica kissed her cheek. “Go forth and conquer.”

 

“Thanks, Nautica,” Windblade said dryly. “Good luck!”

 

“These cookies are good,” Brainstorm said with surprise after Windblade left.

 

“Cooking is Windblade’s science,” Nautica informed him. “I’ll mention it to her; compliments to her cooking make her light up.”

 

“You may add mine as well,” Perceptor said quietly.

 

Nautica smiled at him. “I’ll do that.”

 

\--

 

Starscream checked his phone as he walked up Megatron’s front walk. They didn’t usually have dinner during the week, but the long weekend had been full of studying and other plans and they hadn’t been able to do anything.

 

The front door was unlocked, and he swung it open. “Mega— _Jesus fucking Christ!_ ” He bent over as he clutched his face; his face rang with pain. “What the hell was that for?!”

 

Megatron closed the door. “You threatened my career over some _girl?_ ”

 

“That’s what you punched me for?” Starscream wheezed, managing to find his feet again. “I wasn’t actually going to follow through!”

 

“Then why make the threat?” Megatron loomed over him. There weren’t a lot of people who weren’t taller than him, but Megatron was one of them. “I taught you not to make threats you’re not prepared to follow through on.”

 

Starscream gingerly touched his cheek. It hurt, but there was no blood. “Optimus believed I’d follow through, which is what mattered. Windblade could be an asset down the line--.”

 

“Starscream,” Megatron interrupted with a growl. “Put the political aside for a moment. I am your _foster-father_ , and you used my romantic relationship as a bargaining chip to my partner! Perhaps that’s what you do as a politician, but you’re not a politician yet! You haven’t even introduced me to this girl, and you’re willing to compromise my legacy for her?”

 

“I thought that watering a seed and expecting a bloom down the line is what you’ve been teaching me to do,” Starscream blustered, but Megatron was already shaking his head.

 

“If you do something altruistic for someone without them knowing about it or expecting anything in return, that makes it a relationship. Are you ready to call it a relationship?”

 

“I—she’s a friend.”

 

“Friends don’t threaten foster fathers over friends.” Megatron rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes. “Look. Starscream. You’re in the one place and time where you can pull some stupid shit and should it come out when you’re running for whatever that it will be mostly forgiven because it’s stupid college shit. But I don’t think she’s for you long-term—she’s too idealistic, and you’re too pragmatic and morally grey. Fuck her now, I don’t care, but don’t get too attached. You’ll only hurt yourself in the long run.”

 

Starscream sighed. “Can I least get some ice?”

 

Megatron gestured, and Starscream disappeared into the kitchen. Megatron sighed as he checked his phone. Starscream _needed_ to learn to separate politics from pleasure; Skyfire was a step in the right direction but that direction ended. From what Optimus had said about Windblade—which was a surprisingly small amount—she seemed almost too...nice for Starscream. Admittedly, _anyone_ would be too nice for Starscream, but he wasn’t attracted to them. He was attracted to _Windblade_ , and that was the problem.

 

Starscream appeared in the hall with an icepack pressed to his eye. Megatron did feel a _slight_ twinge of guilt at that. “I expected more punching.”

 

“I can still punch you.”

 

“No, _thank_ you.”

 

“I want you to bring her over. I’ve met her, but I haven’t really _spoken_ to her.”

 

Starscream shifted. “She might read into that.”

 

“Like the subtext isn’t already there?” Megatron asked sardonically. “Get over it.”

 

Starscream straightened. “I haven’t--.”

 

“Oh believe me, I know. I might be more inclined to forgive you if you’d already fucked her, but you haven’t even kissed her, have you?” Megatron rolled his eyes. “If you’re willing to risk your future on someone, at least have something in _return_.”

 

“You’re not wrong,” Starscream said grudgingly.

 

“Is she saving herself for marriage or some shit like that?”

 

“No. _God_ , no. She’s part of the Church of Solus.”

 

Megatron was silent as he worked through that. “It’s a respected religion, and the leaders haven’t committed the fuck-ups of Christian leaders.”

 

“No one can match the Christian fuck-ups.”

 

“It’s a religion that preaches moderation and social justice. That’s—all right.”

 

“Megatron—”

 

“You know at this point that I’ll back you,” Megatron said with dreadful patience. “But part of that means you get to listen to me about potential decisions. If you _have_ to pursue this, you need to be able to make compromises.”

 

“I’m not sure what’s going to happen!”

 

“Then you’d best decide. Since you so rarely listen to me.” There was no bitterness there, none whatsoever.

 

“Thanks, as always, for your wonderful guidance.”

 

“Don’t be an ass. You know I’m right.”

 

“Ugh. Yes, I know.” Starscream pulled the ice away from his eye. “Are we eating?”

 

“I suppose we could.”

 

Starscream made it through the meal and managed to keep his simmering resentment down, but as soon as he made it out, he had his phone out and was texting Skyfire. There was no answer, but he typically didn’t. Skyfire belonged (mentally) to the older generation in that he texted when he had to, but preferred to talk to people over the phone. Starscream _could_ talk to people over the phone, but he preferred to text.

 

Skyfire would have left the lab by then, so Starscream headed over to his dorm room. He continuously sent texts to warn Skyfire he was coming, and then he fumbled with his keys. He had a copy of Skyfire’s key, the way Skyfire had a copy of the key to _his_ dorm room. It was technically against the rules, but they were in and out all the time, so it just made more sense.

 

“Skyfire--!”

 

“Oh my _god,_ Star, don’t you _knock!_ ”

 

Starscream stared at Skyfire and his boyfriend as they pulled the covers over themselves. “I presumed--.”

 

“You always presume,” Skyfire snapped. “Try calling me!”

 

“I texted you! Several times!”

 

“Your phone did go off,” the boyfriend said quietly.

 

“Percy, don’t defend him. Star, _get out_.”

 

“Fine,” Starscream snapped.

 

What a day from _hell_.

 

\--

 

Windblade pulled off her gloves as she entered Nemesis. She was finally getting enough rest, even if that meant she was falling asleep in odd places. If it persisted for longer than another week or two, she’d go see Velocity, but up until that point, she was pretty sure it was the exhaustion her body had been storing for at least two solid years.

 

“Windblade!”

 

“Hi, Thundercracker,” she smiled happily at him. “You and Skywarp heading out to watch the game?” She and Starscream had discussed on Wednesday her coming over for an extended study session since Skywarp and Thundercracker were heading over to a mutual friend’s to watch the Superbowl.

 

“Yeah, but—Windblade, he’s in a foul mood, has been since Thursday. Maybe you should cancel.”

 

“The last time I canceled on him, he lost it. I’m gonna head up, but if he’s too much of an ass, I’ll leave. That usually works.”

 

“Your funeral,” Thundercracker said glumly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

 

She waved at him. “Enjoy the game!”

 

Starscream’s door was unlocked, which said he was expecting her, and she entered carefully. “Starscream?”

 

“Shut the damn door.”

 

Ah. _That_ kind of foul mood.

 

She put down her bag on the couch and started to pull off her coat. “Starscream, what’s wrong?” Bitch jumped onto her coat and started to rub his fat kitty body all over her cranberry coat, and she sighed at him.

 

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”

 

She turned to look at him. “Oh bull—Starscream, what _happened_?” She rushed over, but he stepped away from her. He had a magnificent black eye, and she flexed her hands by her sides.

 

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Stop lying to me,” she snapped. She pushed herself to sit on the counter—he was too tall for her to look at from where she stood, and she made grabby hands at him. He grumbled under his breath and stepped into her space, and she tilted his chin so she could look at it. The bruise was yellowing at the edges, but it was still purple, blue and green around his eye. “It clearly matters, because you didn’t message me to complain about it.”

 

“That’s how you’re analyzing this?” He scowled at her.

 

“If you’d pissed someone off in a mostly innocuous way, you would have messaged me to complain about someone punching you just because you pointed out something they didn’t like. That you didn’t means that it matters. Who punched you?”

 

He pushed away her hands. “It _doesn’t_ matter.”

 

She narrowed her eyes. “Come here.”

 

He stepped back into her space with another grumble, and she wrapped a hand around the nape of his neck and the other around to between his shoulder blades. She pulled him against her and tucked his head between her neck and shoulder, and he was stiff for a moment.

 

She was about to let him go when his arms snaked around her and he sighed against her shoulder before he buried his face in her shirt. They stood in his kitchen for a long time, and she rubbed his back. Finally, he pulled away from her and she let him go, watching him as he took a few steps from her. He looked away from her as he readjusted his shirt, and she wondered what was going through his head. “What happened?”

 

“I met Skyfire’s boyfriend.”

 

“Oh Perceptor? He seems all right.”

 

“You’ve met him too?”

 

“He works with Nautica.” It wasn’t the whole story, but it was all he was willing to share with her, and she didn’t feel comfortable leveraging the ’10 Minute Rule’ in that issue. “I’ve met him. What’s your impression?”

 

“We didn’t talk long enough for me to form one.” He wandered to the fridge and opened it. He didn’t like what he saw, because he closed it and wandered back over to her. “That’s not—really my problem.”

 

She’d earned some trust, apparently. “You and Skyfire went out for a while, right?”

 

“For four months two years ago.”

 

Oh god. “You’re in love with him.” That explained a _lot_.

 

“Was. Very much was. This was just the last nail in the coffin.” He looked down at his hands, and she took them impulsively. “It was the smallest part of my reasoning for why I pushed for us to keep working together. The main one was obviously--.”

 

“Good lab partners are hard to find.” She tugged on his hands, and he didn’t fight the tug _too_ hard as she pulled him against her. “Will this kill your partnership?”

 

He didn’t answer for a moment, looking down at their hands. Now that she wasn’t hoisting trays, she could paint her nails again, and she’d painted them a deep crimson to celebrate. It made her fingers look long and polished, and he tilted her hands left and right to see how the light caught the polish and lit up the glitter suspended within it. “I don’t want it to, but it might. We’ve never gone this long without talking before.”

 

“Are you still mad at him?”

 

“Yes, but to be fair, this whole thing happened after something else and the anger off the first feeds into the second.”

 

“Is he still mad at you?”

 

“Oh, undoubtedly.”

 

“Sooo,” she drew it out so that he would look at her. It worked, mostly. “Give it another day or two, and then bring lunch over to his lab. _Lunch_ , okay? People are more likely to listen to each other over food.”

 

“And you would know this because of your experience with waiting tables.” His cheek was pulling upwards in a slight smirk, and that was a good sign.

 

“Do you know how many awkward parent-child convos I was witness to?” She nudged him, and he nudged her back. “Food helps. Trust me. Get him his favorite, and don’t tell me you don’t know. It’ll be awkward and hellish and you will probably want to crawl under a rock and die, but you need to make it clear that you value the relationship, even if you can be an ass sometimes.”

 

“This one wasn’t on me!”

 

“It kind of was, at least a little. And I’m not saying his reaction was good or anything, but you have a bad habit of presuming. You can use that, if you want to.”

 

“Oh thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome.” She squeezed his hands and let him go. “Now, you’re going to go put on your coat and I’m going to shoo your cat off mine.”

 

“Where are we going?” He helped her down off the counter and raised his eyebrows at her.

 

“Everyone is literally going to be watching the game because we’re in South Carolina and football isn’t so much a Thing here as a cultural touchstone, so the campus will be deserted. We’re going to get hot chocolate from the student union and then we’ll, I don’t know, walk around for a while. It’s snowing lightly, so it’ll be nice.”

 

“Oh _god_ , you’re one of those saps about snow, aren’t you.” Still, he was grabbing his coat and scarf.

 

“I happen to think it’s nice when I’m not biking through it, _yes_. Besides, the summers are so gross here, so I might as well enjoy the cold while I can. Move, Bitch.”

 

Bitch meowed indignantly at her but did so. She tried to brush off fur, and mostly succeeded. She pulled on her coat and turned to look at him, fingers fumbling with the buttons. “And I have a yearning for a white chocolate and peppermint hot chocolate.”

 

“You know white chocolate isn’t real chocolate,” he pointed out as he tucked his scarf inside his coat.

 

“It’s dairy based, made from cocoa beans that are roasted and ground. It’s chocolate,” she smiled sweetly at him as she pulled on her hat. “Let me guess, you’re a dark chocolate purist who thinks anything under 70% cacao is pure shit.”

 

“Oh please, it _has_ to be 85% or above.”

 

“It’s amazing you still have taste buds.”

 

“I’ve heard no complaints.”

 

“I wasn’t questioning the flexibility of your tongue, merely whether it could still do what biology intended,” she tossed back.

 

He looked thrown for a moment, and she smothered a grin. It was always so _good_ when she could get one over on him. “You know,” he began.

 

She interrupted. “Lock your door.”

 

“Pushy, pushy.”

 

She waited for him, and then once the door was locked, she tucked her hand into the curve of his elbow, and he let her. She’d earned something, emotional intimacy maybe. She would examine what that meant later, but maybe she’d test to see how far it went.

 

“Are you cold?”

 

“Not yet.” She glanced up at him. “I won’t pull my gloves on until we’re out there.”

 

“I like your hat. Hand-knitted?”

 

“One of my mother’s students. The scarf matches.”

 

“Your mother must inspire a great deal of loyalty.”

 

“Actually, they were my tutor, so.”

 

He glanced at her as the elevator doors opened and she pulled her gloves out of her coat pocket. “Sensitive much?”

 

“About what?”

 

He snorted. “You should work on your deflection. You are really bad at it.”

 

“Oh, look at the snow,” she gushed, tucking her hand back into the curve of his arm. “Mirror, mirror, Starscream.”

 

“Most people wouldn’t tell me ‘mirror, mirror.’”

 

“You’re not as good as you think you are,” she shrugged. “It’s simple kindness to understand when an issue is still too raw to discuss, even among trusted company, so the issue is dropped and deflected.”

 

“You still think I’m capable of kindness?”

 

She sighed. “I think that _you_ think you’re not capable of kindness unless it benefits you in some way. _I_ think you can occasionally act on an altruistic impulse. It’s good for you, you know. To give yourself something against the terrors.”

 

“I can’t think of how many terrors you’d have.”

 

“I have a few, all intensely personal.”

 

“Any you’d care to share?”

 

“Maybe after I have my hot chocolate.” She kicked up a snowdrift with a small smile. “You want to tell me who punched you?”

 

“...touché.”

 

“I’m not as kind as you think I am.”

 

“Hm, maybe. I think your position is more one of naiveté, less one of where you stand on the personal kindness bell curve. You can’t take that one step further.” Starscream’s shoulder came up in half a shrug.

 

“Is that a challenge?”

 

“Oh, absolutely not. Merely an observation.” He rolled his shoulders and rested his hand over hers. “It’s—refreshing. Poli-sci mixers can be _so_ cutthroat, but they have _nothing_ on the astrophysics grant cycles.” He squeezed her hand. “Better get used to it. You think diplomats are pure souls of goodness and innocence?”

 

“I hold no expectations for their morality or otherwise,” she said blandly.

 

“That’s good. Keep working on that. You might even be believable one day.”

 

“Oh look, the student union. What do you want?”

 

“Dark chocolate with plenty of whipped cream.”

 

She approached the hot chocolate kiosk with her wallet out. “Can I please get two large hot chocolates, one white chocolate and peppermint, and the other dark chocolate with whipped cream?”

 

“ _Plenty_ of whipped cream,” Starscream put in from over her shoulder.

 

The kiosk vendor smiled at the two of them as she prepared their cups. “Taking advantage of the lull on campus to have a romantic evening?”

 

“Oh--.”

 

“Yes,” Starscream interrupted. “She loves the snow, I think it’s silly really, but she just gets so excited, who am I to stop her?” He placed a gentle kiss on her cheek, and Windblade’s heart rate sped up briefly.

 

The kiosk vendor’s smile widened. “So romance isn’t dead.”

 

“Oh, definitely not,” Starscream cooed. “Thank you so much.” He took the two coffee cups. “Have a good night now!”

 

“You too!”

 

“What was _that_ all about?” she demanded once they were out of earshot. Starscream’s arm was around her back, and she was almost comfortable with it.

 

“She wanted to believe something good, so who was I to deny her?”

 

“An altruistic impulse?” she asked dryly.

 

“Exactly.”

 

She sipped her hot chocolate. “You’re not a monster, Starscream. I don’t know when you decided you were—maybe it was your mother, maybe it wasn’t—but you’re not a monster, and you don’t have to act like one.”

 

“I never said--.”

 

“You don’t have to.” She stopped so that she could look up at him. “I may be naïve and overly optimistic and I may not play the game well, but at least half of your jackassery is for show.” She sipped the last of her hot chocolate and tossed the cup in the garbage. “And I can prove it.”

 

“Oh?” He finished the last of his hot chocolate. “Since when are you the window into my soul?”

 

She knelt down to check her boot’s imaginary laces, and she grabbed a handful of snow. “Oh, trust me.”

 

“Windblade, don’t you--.”

 

Too late. She savored the squawking noise of his voice as the snow hit him in the face, and she laughed at him. He wiped snow off his face with a scowl, but it slowly lightened into a malicious smirk.

 

“Starscream--.”

 

“It is _on_.” He scooped up double handfuls of snow, and she shrieked and dove for cover. “You started this!” he called as she tossed snow back at him. “You can’t cry victim now!”

 

He caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye, and he yelped when snow hit the back of his head and slid down his collar. He whirled on her, but she was already ducking behind a tree and laughing at him. “I’ve never heard you make that noise before! It suits you!”

 

“I’ll tell you what suits me,” he growled as he lunged for her. She sidestepped and he went down face-first in a snowdrift.

 

Her laughter continued, and when he picked his head out of the snowdrift, she was dancing with her hands in the air. “I got you, I got you,” she chanted.

 

Her back was to him, and he pushed himself up and stalked toward her. She turned toward him with a hand full of snow, and he stepped forward quickly to wrap a hand around her wrist. “Do not,” he warned.

 

Her smile was cheeky and her cheeks were pink. “Or what?” Her eyes were twinkling like a goddamned _anime character_.

 

He placed a hand on her lower back and pressed forward until she was pressed against him. “Do not,” he repeated.

 

She tilted her head, and then she quite carefully slammed the palm full of snow against the side of his face.

 

“That’s it.” He dropped her in the snowdrift, and she shrieked.

 

“ _Rude!_ ”

 

“I could tell you what’s rude,” he informed her as he hoisted her out of the snowbank. He brushed the snow from her loose tendrils of hair and she removed bits of snow from behind her lapels. “It would be throwing snow at me in the first place.”

 

“You were smiling.” She smoothed his lapels. “And you got me.”

 

“I did.” He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead, and her pulse roared in her ears. “You proved your argument. I’m not a monster.”

 

“You’re not,” she agreed. “Want to go back to your dorm and order some hot food?”

 

He had to grin. “That was such a good idea, I’m surprised I didn’t come up with it.”

 

She shoved him. “For that, you’re paying.”

 

\--

 

Skywarp nudged Thundercracker. “Did some witchcraft happen?”

 

“I’m not sure,” Thundercracker muttered. “Maybe we should look into an exorcism.”

 

“I don’t know how I feel about this,” Skywarp said, a touch hysterically.

 

“Maybe he’s changed, maybe he’s learned something.”

 

“This is _Starscream_ we’re talking about,” Skywarp hissed. “He’s incapable of change!”

 

“I can hear you,” Starscream said without looking up from his book. Windblade was curled against his side, fast asleep. He was stroking her hair, and there was a blanket over her legs. “Don’t wake her up.”

 

“This is ridiculous,” Thundercracker threw his hands in the air. “Every time she’s been over in the past two weeks, she’s fallen asleep on you!”

 

“She’s also fallen asleep at her desk in Prime’s office and at her home when we’ve studied there. She’s been to see Velocity, and her anemia is stable. The medical prognosis is that she’s recovering from severe exhaustion and the best advice we have is that she’s to sleep when she can and if it persists longer than a month that other solutions will then be considered. Now _shut up_.”

 

“I really don’t like this,” Skywarp fretted. “Was he visited by the Ghosts of Christmas Past?”

 

“ _Hush_.” Starscream glared at the both of them, and then they all froze when Windblade stirred. They relaxed after she rubbed her face against Starscream’s pants and fell back asleep, her cheek tucked against his thigh. Starscream readjusted and went back to his book.

 

His phone buzzed, and he checked the message. Skyfire apparently wanted to know if they were on for research the next day, and he sent back a quick affirmative.

 

That conversation...had been hard, just as hard as Windblade said it would be, but they survived it.

 

_“Soooo. Someone told me that I should apologize to you.” Starscream dangled a bag of sandwiches in front of Skyfire. “That I didn’t stop to think about what you needed. Or something.”_

_Skyfire scowled at him. “You fucked up, Star. You can’t just presume I_ belong _to you and you alone.”_

_“I was having a bad night, okay,” Starscream snapped, before he breathed in deeply. “You know about most of it, so...you were the person I went to tell.”_

_“Is it about that black eye?” Skyfire’s scowl deepened. “Who finally gave into the impulse?”_

_“It’s not important,” Starscream muttered, a little stung. “But I was already mad, and I took it out on you, and--,” he sighed. “I’m sorry. I value our relationship too much to let this kill it. I still want to work with you.”_

_“I should’ve checked my phone. I could get used to texting, I guess.” Skyfire sighed. “Now that Percy’s home, you don’t get me on any given night anymore, Star. We have to work it out in advance.”_

_Anger and resentment twisted his stomach, but he held it in. “I guess that’s fair. Windblade’s got most nights to herself now since Prime offered her the TA job, so I might be seeing more of her than three times a week.”_

_“Prime offered her a position usually given to graduate students? When was this?”_

_“At the beginning of the semester. She’s super happy about it.”_

_“Star...did you have something to do with it?”_

_“Why would you say that?”_

_“Because Prime wouldn’t hire a undergrad student for that. He might feel for her situation but he wouldn’t find it appropriate.”_

_“I might have influenced it slightly in offering her as a candidate,” Starscream said breezily. “But the choice was all his own.”_

 

“Starscream,” Windblade mumbled.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Tell your roommates to go away.”

 

“Go away,” he said obediently to Thundercracker and Skywarp.

 

Grumbling, they left.

 

“I can move you to the bed,” he told her. “It’s more comfortable there.”

 

“M’good.”

 

“Is it because I’m here?” he teased.

 

She smacked him lightly. “Warm.”

 

He quieted and went back to his text for international law, and she fell back asleep.

 

\--

 

Starscream looked up when the door to his shared lab with Skyfire opened, and he looked back down when he saw it was the boyfriend. The boyfriend would probably leave once he saw Skyfire wasn’t there.

 

The door didn’t open and close again, and Starscream itched slightly. He could feel the boyfriend’s stare, and finally he looked up. “You’re not my sandwich.”

 

“Indeed not,” the boyfriend said. “ _Definitely_ not.”

 

“What do you want?” Starscream pulled down his research paper and folded his arms.

 

“To talk. To meet you, officially, without Skyfire acting as an irritant or a buffer.” The boyfriend leaned against the counter. “Although do not think it escaped my notice that your shared lab is as far from mine as you can physically get on this campus.”

 

“Skyfire and me picked out this lab long before he ever _met_ you, so.”

 

“I could almost buy it. The petulant child, the spurned lover. Really, you play the part to perfection.” The boyfriend’s eyes were utterly cold, and Starscream straightened. “Skyfire’s even bought the act, and perhaps part of it is real. But there’s more to this story than that.”

 

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Starscream said softly.

 

“Do I not?” The boyfriend tilted his head. “Skyfire has no idea what he represents to you—or represented.”

 

“You’re a scientist.”

 

“So are you.” The boyfriend resettled himself against the counter. “Yet here we stand, politely pretending our positions as scientists protect us from needing to understand how people work.”

 

“What do you want?”

 

“A confirmation. Skyfire is—was—your conscience, was he not?”

 

“A person can’t be a conscience.”

 

“I am content to know that you know that, but we will excuse the polite fiction and move onto the reality. He was your conscience?”

 

“Was,” Starscream grumbled. “But how do you know that?”

 

“You showed up at our door with a black eye and frantic, and he bit your head off.” The boyfriend raised his eyebrows over his glasses. “You trusted him with your problems, and in the interest of some ultimately unsatisfying sex with me, he shut you down. If he operated as your conscience, I would have anticipated you to go on a blitz of bad decisions, and you...haven’t.”

 

“Is there a question?”

 

“And then I remind myself of that sweet girl who is best friends with one of my lab partners, a girl who took the time to make sandwiches and cookies for her best friend and two other people she didn’t even know before coming to work with _you_. Skyfire’s been telling me about you, good things and bad things—do you really not tip waiters?—and it all clicks.”

 

“I have no idea what conclusions you’ve drawn--.”

 

“I’m not kind,” the boyfriend cut across. “I am not. But she is, and you’re attracted to that. It’s what brought you to Skyfire in the first place.” There was a small, heartbreaking smile on the boyfriend’s face. “I feel...I feel _for_ you that your life has been so devoid of kindness that you’re attracted to those who are kind.”

 

“I have no idea what your science background is, but you should probably stick to it instead of engaging in psychology you could have picked up from any crime procedural,” Starscream snapped. “Whatever my association with Windblade is, it is _nothing_ like my partnership with Skyfire--.”

 

“That’s correct. With Windblade, there is a chance your feelings are requited.”

 

Starscream straightened and prepared to lunge at the boyfriend. His stance wasn’t adequately balanced, so it would be easy to take him out at the knees and slam his forehead against the desk until those glasses cracked.

 

“I really wouldn’t,” the boyfriend said icily. “An assault charge in college will absolutely kill your political career before it even _begins_ , so...”

 

“What do you _want?_ ”

 

“Merely to know where we stand. Can we interact civilly because we are two mature adults, or do I need to play on your relationship with Skyfire to do this?”

 

Starscream eyed him. “We can be mature.”

 

“Excellent.” The boyfriend relaxed somewhat. “I do not wish you ill.”

 

“Can’t exactly say the same.”

 

“Oh, I know.” The boyfriend shrugged. “It was still a productive conversation.”

 

Starscream deliberately looked back at his research paper. “Perceptor, get out of my lab.”

 

He was answered by the closing of a door.

 

\--

 

“Windblade.”

 

She waved a highlighter and continued to read.

 

“ _Windblade_.”

 

“What, Starscream?” she grumbled, looking up from her research.

 

Starscream lounged across the table, but the effect was ruined by the fact he had his coat on. “We’ve been here for _hours_.”

 

“And I quote,” she said, looking back down into a study of linguistic anthropology of Mandarin, “’My roommates are doing the Valentines orgy thing and I’m not invited.’ End quote.”

 

“It’s almost midnight, they should be done by now.”

 

“You’re welcome to test that particular hypothesis. _I_ am staying here.”

 

“Windyyyy.”

 

“Don’t call me that,” she said sharply. “Only Nautica calls me that.”

 

He pouted. “ _Windbladeeeee.”_

 

“What do you want to do, Starscream? _My_ roommates are _also_ engaging in things I’d prefer not to walk in on, so unless you have a location of alternate accommodations, I plan on staying in the library for at _least_ another two hours.”

 

He grinned. “I have an idea. Put your coat on.”

 

“I’m not leaving my stuff.”

 

“My car’s on campus tonight. Once it’s past ten, they stop charging you for spaces, so we can load up your stuff there.”

 

“What do you have in mind?” she asked cautiously.

 

“Don’t you trust me?”

 

“Only a little.”

 

“You sleep on me regularly.”

 

“Not so regularly now that my sleep schedule is evening out.”

 

“Aw, but the sight of you sitting on my bed and reading, and then I come back five minutes later and you’re asleep on my _bed_ , well then.”

 

She flushed. “Shut up, Starscream.”

 

“It’s almost like _you_ belong there.”

 

“Starscream!” She glanced around the library, but they were in a study alcove on the night before Valentine’s Day; they had the fifth floor to themselves. “Too far.”

 

“How much more explicit would you like me to be? Rated M? NC-17? I can go full filthy.”

 

“Fine, I am packing up my stuff, but we are _not_ having sex.”

 

“I wasn’t thinking of sex, but since _you_ brought it up...”

 

“I will slap you,” she warned. “And I will make it _hurt_.”

 

He grasped her wrist. “Oh, please _do_.”

 

Her stomach flipped over. “I’m...gonna need that hand to pack up my stuff.”

 

He let go of her, but that smirk did strange things to her insides. Her fingers shook slightly as she closed up her books and notes. He watched her, and she hated that she was so transparent.

 

Once her bag was closed, he was standing there with her coat, and he helped her put it on. She tucked her braid into her hat and wound her scarf around her neck, and when she reached for her bag, she found he already had it. “What _do_ you have planned?” she demanded as he placed a hand on the small of her back and steered her toward the elevator.

 

“You’ll see.” He was too chipper.

 

His SUV was, as promised, sitting in the lot, and he worked the fob so that the trunk opened, and when it did, he placed her bag in the back. She breathed in the sharp cold air as he closed it with a snap, and he turned toward her with intent. Was she ready for that? She couldn’t tell. Sleeping in his bed, sleeping in his _lap_ —her stomach fluttered again—eating and joking with him...there was only one logical way for their relationship to go. She didn’t think she was prepared. Not yet.

 

She turned to say that to him, but then he was holding her hand and gently pulling her along, and his hand was cold but his fingers were so soft. He was showing her his vulnerability, and if she spat on that, he would lock it away and she would never know him.

 

4 months ago, she wouldn’t have been aware of the weight of the choice.

 

“Starscream--.”

 

“Shh, we’re not there yet.”

 

She wasn’t ready, she couldn’t do it yet. They were passing the school fountain, the one featured in all the school pamphlets, and she racked her brains as she tried to find a way to stall him.

 

She had been acting silly as her sleep schedule evened out, and she grasped onto the threads of an idea. As they approached the bench that rimmed the fountain—it had been shut off once freezes happened—she jumped onto the bench.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” she said, twirling on the balls of her feet. “The first time I saw the picture of this fountain, I thought: _that would be a great place to dance_. I like dancing, you know. One of my mother’s students went through Cotillion, all of that, and he taught me how to dance when I was crying over my first boyfriend.”

 

“You’re acting silly,” he complained.

 

“I’m well rested and cheerful, this is what you get.” She executed a perfect step-ball-change, and her coat flared out slightly.

 

“You’re going to fall,” he told her.

 

“Maybe,” she hummed. “I need music, but my music player’s in my bag. What’s on your iPod?”

 

“I’m not handing you my iPod so you can hunt through my music taste and make snarky comments. _Please_ get down.”

 

She slid over the fountain bench. “I’m charming and sweet,” she informed him, “who occasionally makes snarky commentary but it is almost _never_ mean-spirited, and it’s always clear when I _am_ being mean, _unlike_ you.” She spun around again. “And I’m not getting down until I want to.”

 

“And if I pulled you down?”

 

She moved her hands out of grabbing distance. “You’re not going to, because you don’t want to admit it, but you find me endearing.” She was edging into dangerous territory, but Starscream rarely went into serious territory while they were being playful. She stepped past him and she twirled again, but there was a patch of ice and her boot sole skidded. She had a brief flash of falling down against the pavement—hitting her head, oh _god_ the hospital bills—and then there were arms around her, and she was tucked against his chest.

 

“I did tell you,” he sighed.

 

“Let me go?”

 

“You’re going to get back on the fountain bench, and I prefer you in one piece.”

 

She took a gamble. “I hate dancing alone. Dance _with_ me?”

 

“There’s no music.”

 

“But you have your iPod.”

 

He stared at her, and she smiled guilelessly back. “...fine.” He set her down and went rooting through his pockets. Dancing was good; dancing meant he couldn’t tell her whatever he’d decided.

 

She recognized the music that spilled from the tiny speaker. “Ohmygod, is that _Steven Universe?_ ” she demanded.

 

“You asked for music we could dance to.” His eyes looked past her, and she squeezed his arm.

 

“It’s perfect.” _Too_ perfect. The knowledge that he watched _Steven Universe_ was almost too much. “Do you root for Homeworld?” she demanded.

 

He cocked a smile at her as he picked up her hand. She rested her other hand on his shoulder, and they started to move. “Not for Jasper, certainly, but I do feel _Lapis_ had a raw deal.”

 

She pursed her lips as they started with a strange cross between a waltz and the swing. It was a similar step, at least, and she could keep up. “And Peridot?”

 

“She’s a scientist who just wants to do her job. I can work with that.”

 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh please, it’s the science that’s the problem!”

 

“Oh?” He spun her out.

 

“She’s unethical and performing experiments on those who can’t consent!”

 

“ _Is_ there a line of consent for undead Gems?” She scowled at him, and his smirk was patronizing. “They’re not technically alive by human legal standards.”

 

“This isn’t a case of humans experimenting on Gems. This a Gem experimenting on _other Gems_.”

 

“Of course, it _is_ fictional.”

 

“You’re the one saying you get Peridot because of her unethical science, so I think that point’s moot for now.”

 

He tightened his grip on her waist and dipped her, and she yelped, moving her hand from his shoulder to the nape of his neck. “I don’t want to talk about Peridot,” he murmured.

 

“What do you mean?” she whispered.

 

“I think you know exactly what I mean.” He straightened and spun her out, and her head went woozy for a moment. “Honestly, I would’ve thought _you_ would have been the one to broach the subject first.”

 

“Starscream--.”

 

“I’d like to think I’m a pretty good judge of character, and you trust me. You trust me more than you say you do. So what’s the problem?”

 

They froze like that, his hand in hers, and she stuttered, “S-Star.” He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers, and her stomach was fluttering again. “S-Star, I-I--.”

 

“What do you need?” He opened his eyes, and he looked almost—desperate. Yes, desperate was the word. “I can’t change who I am or what I want, but there are things I can do, so what do you need?”

 

The desperation in his eyes made his behavior over the last four weeks make sense. How touchy he’d been, how he’d been taking care of her...whatever had broken him, just a little, it made him desperate for someone who trusted him.

 

Her heart broke for him, and she cupped his cheek with her hand. “Relationships aren’t built on what one person needs from the other,” she rubbed the pad of her thumb against his cheekbone, and he gazed at her like she was the beginning and the end. “That can be part of it, but it’s not what they’re _built_ on. You’re right, I trust you, and I like you, most days.” He flashed a smile at that. “I like who I am when I’m around you.”

 

“There’s a ‘but’ coming.”

 

“What was your relationship to Skyfire built on?”

 

He frowned, but didn’t pull away yet. “I don’t want to talk about Skyfire right now.”

 

“It matters, so—please.”

 

He sighed. “Sex. Our first argument over a theorem turned into him fucking me over the desk we shared. It turned into companionship as it went on, but it had always been about sex in the beginning.”

 

“And our friendship?”

 

“Our work. It’s what it started out as, but that’s not where it is now.”

 

“No, it’s not,” she agreed. “Starscream, I _appreciate_ the things you do for me, but I’m not demanding them. That’s not a healthy relationship. Honesty, trust, kindness...those are the things _our_ relationship is built on. You don’t need to do anything for me.”

 

“I want to kiss you. Can I do that?”

 

She breathed in sharply. Oh. Oh Solus. Did she want to kiss him? Was she prepared for what that meant? One kiss couldn’t hurt, could it? She knew she was attracted to him, but was it the distant aesthetic attraction or the real, visceral gutwrenching attraction? A kiss could answer that, couldn’t it?

 

His breath puffed over her lips, and she closed her eyes. Just once. Just once she would let herself be weak.

 

When a few seconds passed without the warmth of his lips pressed to hers, she opened her eyes and saw a terribly conflicted expression on his face. She flinched, and he looked down at her. “I’m going to give you the keys, and you are going to head to the car and get it started. You will call your roommates once you’re _in_ the car and tell them you’re coming home and they need to put some clothes on. I will follow after.”

 

He unwound his hands from her, and she took a step back. “Starscream?”

 

“It’s fine. We’ll talk in a moment.” He looked down at her. “Go on.”

 

She left, and once she was gone Starscream tucked his collar up and stuck his hands in his pockets. He kicked a small mound of snow as he walked across the courtyard, where Megatron was waiting under a streetlight. He was tapping his heel and glancing very obviously at his watch, and Starscream stopped just out of arm’s reach. “What.”

 

“That was sweet.”

 

Starscream kicked another mound of snow more vehemently. “ _What_.”

 

“Is that really any way to speak to me?” Megatron asked reprovingly.

 

“What do you want, Megatron?” Starscream attempted to modulate his voice to something less aggressive.

 

Keyword: _attempted_.

 

Megatron rooted around his coat until he found his packet of cigarettes. Merely to drag it out, he pulled one out and stuck it in his mouth while he patted down his pockets until he found his lighter. He cupped his hand around the lighter as he brought it to the end of his cigarette, and by the time he’d lit it and taken a drag, Starscream looked almost neurotic.

 

He hid a smile. “You didn’t listen to me. _Again_.”

 

“What’s the problem?” If Starscream’s bottom lip protruded any more, he would be pouting, and his skin was darkening.

 

“You appeared to only listen to the first part of what I said,” Megatron took another drag of his cigarette but made sure to blow away from Starscream’s face. “You’re doing stupid college shit—it’s cute, I’ll grant you, but. This is only going to hurt you in the long run.”

 

“We’re not even together!” Starscream hunched his shoulders. “She keeps avoiding the question.”

 

Megatron raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

 

“Not the point.”

 

“Fine.” Megatron twitched the cigarette to let the ash drop on the ground. “I still want to meet her. Next Sunday at 5, family dinner. You know what that means.”

 

Starscream scowled at him. “You know Optimus will be pissed that you’re smoking again.”

 

“I have a stressful life. Just look at my foster son.” Megatron adjusted his hat before he patted Starscream’s shoulder. “Good night, Starscream.”

 

Starscream made a face at him. “Were you just walking to your car or something?”

 

“I forgot to grab something and you have a distinctive silhouette. When I saw you were _dancing_ , well, I had to stop.”

 

Starscream’s face darkened further, and Megatron smiled. “Good _night_ , Starscream.”

 

Starscream grumbled at him before turning on his heel and heading toward the parking lot. He was _not_ dealing with that.

 

Windblade was sitting in the car, biting her lips. Her lips were already chapped—he remembered that from when he’d kissed her on New Years—and blood was beading at the corners of her mouth.

 

The inside of the car was warm and he fumbled with the armrest until he found the package of tissues concealed under it. “Don’t bleed all over my car.”

 

“Are you all right?” Her voice was high and anxious as she daubed at the corners of her mouth, and he looked over at her.

 

“Fine. Just had a shock.”

 

Her shoulders relaxed slightly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“Maybe in a bit. I need to think about it first.”

 

She nodded. “Okay.” She exhaled and he put the car in reverse. “Okay.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so to pull aside the writer-story curtain for a moment, when I first wrote this part, I was doing a Scandal re-watch, and the plot took a distinctively Scandal-lous turn. When I showed it to [mizzymouse](mizzymouse.tumblr.com), they pointed out that I hadn't really gone there to that extent prior, and it came out of nowhere. Like I've said previously, mizzymouse isn't actually in the TF fandom (but still reads and helps me brainstorm anyway, you are _THE BEST_ ), so while there will be more turns and twists that resemble Scandal in parts to come--I'm planning so hard in the future, oh goodness--this is more of a microcosmic fic, so, y'all are denied your TF/Scandal fusion for now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All aboard the angst train. This chapter contains alcohol consumption and vomiting; if that's an issue for you, you might want to skip over a bit toward the end.
> 
> Again, thanks to those who commented on the previous chapter. End of semester shit has my anxiety through the roof, so it does make a difference.

**PART SEVEN**

****

**_Then:_ **

****

**_February & March:_ **

 

Starscream knocked on the door. Chromia opened it and rolled her eyes at him, and she turned back into the kitchen. “Where is she?” he asked with a sneer.

 

“I’m in here,” Windblade called, and when he entered the room, he found her struggling with the zipper of her dress. “Am I dressed appropriately?” she turned around to show him the dress with a shy half-smile.

 

He looked her over. The dress was black with three-quarter sleeves, and the dress’s skirt ended at her knees. A thin golden chain winked at her neck and disappeared into the high neckline, and he tilted his head. “It’s very conservative.”

 

“I’m going to dinner with your _father_ ,” she said, turning back around. Her hair was braided and pinned, and there were matching small gold hairpins in it. “Can you finish me up? I can’t get that last inch.”

 

He stepped over to her and pinched the slight zipper between his fingers. “Am I?”

 

“You look nice,” she said sincerely as she turned around. “You’re really working the skinny black tie.”

 

“We match.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “No lipstick?”

 

“Not yet,” she said dryly. “I was going to put it on after I put on my dress. And it’s not a lipstick.”

 

“Um, yes it is.”

 

“ _Um_ , no it’s not. It’s a lipstain. It’s why I can move my mouth without lipstick cracking everywhere, or without staining every cup I drink from. Hold my mirror.”

 

He took it, and she picked up the lipstain. He watched, fascinated, as she drew the brush along her chapped lips until the slight cracks disappeared, and she waited for a beat before looking up at him. “Are we ready?”

 

“Just waiting for you.”

 

She made a face at him. “Is there anything I should know about your foster father before I enter his home?”

 

“Hm, not really. He likes full formal Sunday dinner, but he’s not that formal in his manners.” Starscream picked up her coat and offered it to her. He helped her put it on, and she turned back around to button it up. “Umm--he likes to tease.”

 

“So, basically a little like you then.” She wrapped her scarf around her neck and went searching for her shoes. She was wearing dark tights, but Starscream wrote that down to it being about -9°C, instead of Windblade dressing like she was going to a funeral.

 

Her shoes were cherry red pumps, and he had to grin. No matter what, she found a way to include red in her daily clothing. Starscream, whose own wardrobe starred more red and blue clothing than any other, could appreciate a kindred spirit when he saw one. She smoothed down her coat and glanced at him. “Are we ready to go now?”

 

“Like I said, we were just waiting for you.”

 

She rolled her eyes at him and exited the room. She stopped in the kitchen to rifle through the sideboard to get out her phone, and Nautica looked up from her engineering homework. “Have a good time, Windy! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

 

“Nautica,” Windblade said wearily, but—too late.

 

“Are those explicit parameters?” Starscream asked, leaning on the counter.

 

Nautica grinned. “ _Well_ \--.”

 

“And we’re going now!” Windblade interrupted, glaring at Nautica. “Bye!”

 

“No, no, we can wait a moment--.”

 

“Good _bye_ ,” she wrapped a hand around Starscream’s wrist and started to tow him out. “We’ll be back!”

 

“Oh, _we_ will?”

 

“Shut up, Starscream!”

 

He let her pull him out the door and to his car, and she let go of him to turn around. “Unlock your car.”

 

“Oh?”

 

She sighed. “ _Please_ unlock your car.”

 

“All you had to do was ask,” he said gleefully, and he pressed the button on the fob. She reached out to punch his shoulder, but he sidestepped her over to his side of the car.

 

Once they were both inside, she frowned at him. “Why are you trying to wind me up before you take me to dinner with your foster father?”

 

“It’s fun, and you’re not as anxious now,” he said breezily.

 

She rolled her eyes as he pulled away from the curb. “That didn’t actually help.”

 

“What _are_ Nautica’s parameters?”

 

“Mostly not safe for work.”

 

“ _Do_ go on.”

 

“Really? You really want to know?”

 

“Oh yes.”

 

She looked out the window. She’d already opened the subject; she had to follow through. “No fucking on the research, and no fucking in the lab. Anything else is fair game.”

 

“A true scientist,” Starscream said approvingly, and her spirits lifted slightly. Maybe he wouldn’t... “Of course, that leaves plenty of options open.” _Nope_.

 

“Please stop talking.”

 

“Anything in particular _you_ like?”

 

“Starscream.”

 

“I mean, I can talk for ages about what _I_ like.”

 

“ _Starscream_.”

 

“You seem like the type to like sensory deprivation,” he mused, and she flushed slightly. “You’re so reserved, I bet you just _love_ being teased until you’re begging--.”

 

“Starscream!” He glanced over at her with his typical smirk, and it broadened when he saw her flush. “We are going to _Sunday dinner_. Stop it!”

 

“So when we’re leaving, it’s okay?”

 

“I will actually punch you.”

 

“Hm, no you won’t. But you’re always welcome to try.”

 

She inhaled to speak, but he spoke over her. “And here we are.”

 

Megatron’s home was a small Tudor-style house, next to identical Tudor-style homes. The red brick and white paint belonged to more New England style design, but there were bright geraniums in the front yard and no screen door. Windblade decided she liked it, and Starscream parked his car. As they headed up the front walk, Megatron opened the door, and like Starscream, he was dressed in slacks with a button-down shirt and a tie. He clapped Starscream on the shoulder as they entered. “Welcome, the food is almost ready.”

 

“Says the person who isn’t cooking,” someone called from the kitchen, and Windblade froze in the act of unbuttoning her coat.

 

“Is that Professor Prime?” she muttered to Starscream as Megatron strode toward the kitchen, and Starscream arched a brow at her.

 

“Yes, they’re together. You didn’t know?”

 

As if summoned, Optimus appeared at the other end of the dining room, where the entrance to the kitchen clearly was. He was dressed just as formally as his partner, but over his Oxford shirt he wore a bright pink apron that read ‘Kiss the Cook!’ with heart symbols around it. “Hello, Windblade!”

 

“Hello, Professor,” she managed, and he turned back into the kitchen.

 

She reapplied herself to unbuttoning her coat with nervous fingers, and she glared up at Starscream. “When I said ‘ _is there anything I need to know_ ,’ that is when you should’ve said ‘ _my foster-father is dating Professor Prime,’_ you asshole!” She tried to keep her voice down, but anxiety was making her heart race.

 

He took the coat from her to place it on a hanger in the coat closet. “I honestly thought you knew. They’re in and out of each other’s offices all the time.”

 

“I just thought they were friends!” She breathed out sharply. “Where’s the bathroom?”

 

He pointed down the opposite hall. “Down the hall and to the left.”

 

She vanished, and Starscream ambled into the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?”

 

“Food,” Optimus said distractedly.

 

“Where is she?” Megatron inquired as he pulled the red wine down from on top of the refrigerator.

 

“Bathroom.”

 

“Ah.” Megatron looked down at the wine. “Will she drink some?”

 

“I’ll go ask her.”

 

“At least let her get out of the bathroom first,” Optimus fussed as he pulled potato gratin out of the oven.

 

“Oh, she’ll be fine.” Starscream stuck his hands in his pockets and left the room. When he knocked on the door, he said, “Windddyyyyyy.”

 

“Don’t call me that, Starscream.”

 

“You okay?”

 

She opened the door a crack, and he had a pang of alarm. She was pale under her foundation, and when she opened the door further, he stepped past it. “Are you okay?” he repeated.

 

“I’ll be okay in a second.” She sank down onto the closed toilet seat. “I would have really appreciated you telling me this, Starscream. This is an increase in intimacy, and I would have appreciated the warning.”

 

He closed the door. “Why is it tripping you up?”

 

“Because he’s not just my mentor or advisor or _boss_ ,” she said with frustration. “Now he’s the partner of my friend’s foster-father, and I’m having an intimate family dinner with him. He’s already been dad-ing me, okay? This just gives him more space for more of it.”

 

“And that’s bad? You don’t have a dad.”

 

“I don’t _need_ one,” she rested her head in her hands. “It’s—weird.”

 

“Come on, the food’s hot. And as much as Optimus and me don’t really like each other, he’s mostly a good guy. There are worse dad figures, all right?” He pulled her up.

 

She took a deep breath. “Okay.”

 

“Oh, and Megatron wants to know if you’ll drink red wine.”

 

“It’s not really my favorite,” she admitted as he opened the door. “I don’t really like wine, it reminds too much of the stiff event dinners my mother occasionally throws and I have to have a glass of wine to be polite.”

 

“Well, this will certainly not be stiff,” Megatron assured her as they entered the main room. He took them both in, and Windblade noted how Starscream tensed briefly before he relaxed. “What kind of wine does your mother prefer?”

 

“Peach wine from a local winery,” she said, a little unsure of why Megatron cared. “I find it too sweet.”

 

“This red is very dry. It goes with roasts nicely for that reason. Are you sure you don’t want to try it?”

 

“I’m good, thanks,” she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Is there anything I can do?”

 

“Oh no, we’re good. Optimus is just bringing the roast now.”

 

“Here,” Starscream pulled out her chair for her, and she sat down with bemusement. He’d never done that before but she didn’t have the thoughts to spare for _why_ as Optimus brought the roast from the kitchen. He’d shucked his ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron, something for which she was grateful.

 

She had the brief flash that they should pray over the meal—while it was atypical for Solusians, the meal was such a suburban Christian experience that she half-expected Optimus or Megatron to stop to say grace.

 

Instead, they just started to eat, and she had managed to finish the green beans when Megatron started his interrogation. “So, where is your family from?”

 

“Georgia,” she said with a slight hint of humor.

 

“And your parents...”

 

“Just my mother, and she was born and raised in Caminus.” Windblade started to cut the potato gratin into neatly-sized bites. “Are you asking where my family hails from?”

 

Megatron twitched, and Optimus cleared his throat. “That’s not what he was asking.”

 

Starscream was fighting the urge to grin, and she wondered what had just happened. “What I _meant_ ,” Megatron said, throwing a glare at Optimus, “is to tell me about your parents.”

 

“My mother runs the main seminary for the Church of Solus,” she recited. “I grew up steeped in Solusian culture.” _Anything else?_ She picked up a bite of potatoes and deliberately ate it.

 

Apparently Optimus recognized her feathers were ruffled, because he immediately stepped in. Starscream, the asshole, was drinking from his wineglass and radiating waves of amusement. “I had the chance to attend some Solusian services when I was working in the UN. I was impressed with the emphasis on self-control and moderation.”

 

“Yeah, that’s a big part of our faith. You worked in the UN? For what council?” She was more grateful than she could say for his side-step, and Starscream snorted beside her.

 

“Don’t get him started.”

 

“Please, by all means,” she invited, rolling her eyes at Starscream.

 

Optimus smiled. “I was chosen to represent the United States on the Security Council, and I spent a great deal of time traveling between New York City and Washington DC. I was working with the Security Council through the 1980s to the early 1990s, and that was a rather difficult position to be in, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

 

She winced. “Oh dear.”

 

“That is the understatement of the _year_. I was part of the Senate Intelligence Committee at the time, so Optimus appeared in front of my committee fairly frequently.” Megatron served himself some green beans and then passed the plate to Starscream.

 

“This is the story of how they met,” Starscream told her in a stage-whisper.

 

Megatron chose to ignore that. “He came to debrief us after the fall of the Berlin wall. I was a second-term senator at that point, and I had replaced someone on the Senate Intelligence Committee, so it was the first time I’d met him. We naturally started arguing.”

 

“There were attempts to get us back on track, but it was not entirely successful,” Optimus added. “We took a recess, but _our_ argument continued. We were coming at the issue in two fundamentally different ways; handling a problem in the Security Council is nothing like handling a problem in the Senate.”

 

“And you two have been together since?”

 

“It took us some time to get there,” Optimus admitted. “We spent a large portion of the early years fighting. Diplomacy politics are...very different than Senate politics.”

 

“And yet surprisingly similar,” Megatron said.

 

“Only according to some,” Optimus sipped his wine.

 

Megatron reached for the salt, and Starscream flinched minutely. Windblade glanced at him, but he turned the flinch into a reach for his glass. He met her eyes and shrugged at her, and she looked back at Optimus. “How long did you two work together?”

 

“I was removed from the Security Council after President Clinton was sworn in as part of the usual ‘changing of the guard.’ I was coming to the point of retiring and going to teach anyway, so it was a blessing. Once I no longer represented the United States in the international sphere, I could be who I wanted to be without having to worry about how my behavior would reflect upon the United States.”

 

“He means we were then free to be seen together in public,” Megatron clarified. “Previous administrations had been...well, you know, in regards to men dating, and while it changed over time, there was still concern. I retired, and I spent about a year languishing for lack of anything to do, and then Optimus approached me about writing a paper about current international relations. He felt our differing perspectives could be entirely useful.”

 

“It worked well.”

 

She laid her fork down. “And then you two came here? Independently or was it a joint decision?”

 

“This university was trying to compete with the likes of American University and other Ivies that have a strong political science and international relations departments, so getting a former diplomat to the UN and a former senator, both of whom had written various academic articles and position papers, was a feather in their cap. They approached us both individually, but we gave our decision together.” Optimus finished his wine.

 

“Did they know...?”

 

“We chose not to disclose at that time.” Megatron put down his fork. “Starscream, help me with the dishes.”

 

“Are you asking or ordering?” Starscream pushed himself away from the table.

 

“I can help,” Windblade started to get up, but Optimus waved her off.

 

“It’s good for Starscream to do dishes,” he assured her. Starscream’s face tightened slightly, but he followed Megatron out. Optimus led her to the living room, and he sat in the armchair opposite the couch, and she sank down onto the couch. “So your catnapping has largely ended?”

 

“Yes, thank Solus,” she said. Her cheeks heated at the memory of her falling asleep in his office chair. “Sir, I’m sorry about the chair--.”

 

“It’s quite all right, Windblade,” he crossed one leg over the other. “I’ve napped there a time or two myself, though typically closer to finals.”

 

“Still,” she looked down at the couch.

 

“How is your research coming along?”

 

She grasped onto the subject with gratitude. “There are two linguistic anthropology studies that I’m finding useful, and there’s also been studies done into how colonization and imperialism has changed the cultures I’m comparing. It’s not the end of my research, but it’s a good place to start.”

 

“Excellent. Do you have the beginnings of an outline?”

 

“I think so. How the West infiltrated and influenced China versus Japan, and how they have taken their position on the international stage after major world events...It’s the beginning, anyway. Language is part of culture, and the use of loanwords and changes in word usage can be tracked over time as indicators to how culture is changing.”

 

“That sounds _utterly_ fascinating,” Starscream sat down next to her, and she rolled her eyes at him.

 

“And I can completely follow along with your rambling explanations of various astrophysical concepts,” she deadpanned.

 

“You follow the math along well enough.”

 

“You take my nodding as more than what it is.” She hid a yawn behind her hand. “Whoops, sorry. I guess I’m still catching up a bit.”

 

“Do you want me to take you home?”

 

“Not quite yet,” she told Starscream. “I’m having a good time.”

 

The lines around Starscream’s eyes deepened briefly, and she realized that he’d been hoping she would say ‘yes.’ What had he and Megatron talked about? She’d noted the flinch; had Megatron noticed it as well?

 

She yawned again, and this time, it was a little bigger than her previous. “Actually, on second thought...” she ducked her head and glanced up at Optimus. “I think I’m more tired than I thought, I am _so_ sorry.”

 

“It’s all right,” Optimus stood up. “Let me walk you out.”

 

In the time it took for them to get their coats, Megatron came out of the kitchen. “Leaving so soon?”

 

“I’m very tired,” she apologized. “I’m getting over two years worth of sleep deprivation, and while I’m finally on the tail end of it, it’s still an issue.”

 

“Of course.” Megatron’s eyes were knowing as they rested on Starscream, and Starscream shifted slightly.

 

“Thank you so much for your hospitality, I enjoyed it,” she told them sincerely.

 

“You’re welcome anytime,” Optimus informed her. “The both of you.” So she wasn’t the only one who picked up on the tension between Starscream and Megatron.

 

“Time to go,” Starscream reminded her, and Optimus opened the door for them.

 

“Have a safe trip home!” he called after them as they progressed down the walk, and Windblade waved at him.

 

Once they were in the car, Starscream leaned back against the seat. “I thought they were _never_ going to let us leave. Um—thanks for deciding to go. That last yawn was fake.”

 

She yawned again. “But now I’m yawning for real. What’s the deal between you and Megatron, anyway? You seemed uncomfortable with him.”

 

He shrugged as he backed out of the driveway. “It’s not important.”

 

“Really? Because it didn’t seem quite right.” She peered at him in the half-light of the glowing dashboard. “Does this have to do with the punching thing that you never told me who did it?”

 

His hands tightened on the dashboard. “It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Starscream--.”

 

“It _doesn’t matter_. I don’t want to talk about this.”

 

“Okay,” she said easily, “but just so you know, it’s okay to complain about the real stuff and not just how the dude at Jimmy John’s screwed up your order.”

 

He glanced at her. “I...appreciate the offer.”

 

She smiled slightly. “I complain at you sometimes.”

 

“Most of the time, you’re complaining _about_ me.”

 

She resettled herself on the seat. “Well, it’s usually a good reason.”

 

He burst out laughing. “I’m so glad you value me so highly.”

 

“Oh, I do,” she said seriously. “If I didn’t, I’d complain about you to someone else.”

 

“Oh good.”

 

Her smile broadened. “So. You and Optimus get along?”

 

“Not...really, but by the time Optimus decided he was ready for him and Megatron to be a thing, Megatron was already my godfather so he didn’t really have much of a say. We muddle along. He’s a lot more moral than me.”

 

“I’ve noticed. Wait, he’s not more moral than Megatron?”

 

“Megatron has...his own system. It’s not quite synonymous with what I’d call ‘morality,’ but he _does_ have a code and he sticks to it through thick and thin. Optimus adheres just as strongly to his _own_ system, so while they can fight bitterly about it, at the end of the day their values are similar, they just get there differently.”

 

“Huh.”

 

“Yeah. It’s not fun listening to them when they get into it. Optimus shouts and Megatron gets really quiet.”

 

“ _Optimus_ shouts?”

 

“It’s kind of terrifying, actually. But they’ve been together for over 20 years, it’s not about to change now.”

 

“I guess so,” she mused. “Remind me not to get caught up in that.”

 

“Definitely.” Starscream pulled into her driveway. Chromia’s car was already under the carport, so she and Nautica must’ve stayed in. “Let me walk you in.”

 

“You sure? You still seem a little--.”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

“If you say so.” She tucked her coat closer to herself as she swung out of the car, and she managed to stay upright on her heels. She should _really_ get used to walking in them. “So, tomorrow?”

 

“I’m taking a sick day tomorrow,” he told her. “Skyfire thinks he found something, so I want to work on it. Next week’s spring break, though, and we’ll have plenty to do then.”

 

“Oh yeah. Nautica’s going on a trip with her lab partners, so we won’t have to negotiate who gets the kitchen table.” They stopped in front of her screen door, and she tilted her head to better look up at him. “Not that I don’t mind working in my room, but the chairs are more comfortable to sit in over time, you know?”

 

Instead of opening the door, he stepped into her space, one hand on her hip. The other hand curled around her cheek, and he stopped, just long enough for her to realize what he wanted to do. The hand on her hip wasn’t holding her in place, and she could step out of it without having to fight him.

 

He waited, and she tried to come to a decision. She’d been steadfastly Not Thinking About It because something in her stomach tightened beyond belief, but she didn’t have to think right then. She could just...

 

She tilted her head back, further into his hold, and she saw his smirk as he bent down slightly. She closed her eyes in preparation, and she could feel his body heat as he drew closer, and just as she could begin to feel the slightest pressure, the house door opened with a snap and they both jumped away from each other.

 

Chromia glowered at the two of them from the other side of the screen door. “It’s too cold to loiter outside,” she informed them.

 

“We were managing,” Starscream replied, but he was already taking two steps back toward the steps, and Windblade felt a pang at the loss before she squared her shoulders.

 

“I’ll tell Magnus you weren’t feeling well,” she told him. “And I’ll see you Wednesday?”

 

“Yeah, think so.”

 

She waited until he was in his car with the lights on before she opened the screen door and marched past Chromia. Chromia closed the door quietly, and Windblade whirled on her. “That was literally _the_ perfect setting for that to happen. Why did you interrupt?!”

 

“Because _you_ told _me_ two days ago that you weren’t sure how you felt, and I don’t want you throwing yourself into something because it’s easier for him,” Chromia said steadily. “You can only do throwaway sex when you don’t have an emotional connection, and whatever _I_ might think of it, you have an emotional connection to him, and you’re not ready.”

 

Windblade set her jaw, but then forced herself to relax. “I know. It’s just--.”

 

“It would be easier,” Chromia said sympathetically. “I know. Nautica’s done with her homework.”

 

“You still working on work?”

 

“I’ve got a stack of reports to fill out. Go on, I’ll join you two when I’m done.”

 

Windblade sailed into the larger bedroom and perched on the edge of the bed. “Nautica, it’s time we examined my feelings with a fine toothed comb.”

 

“Finally,” Nautica said enthusiastically. “I’ve been _waiting_ for this.”

 

\--

 

“I do not understand how he managed to draw her in,” Megatron announced from the closet where he was removing his tie. Optimus was pulling on sleep socks, and the electric blanket was warming up. “She seems too idealistic for him. Too...academic.”

 

“I’m not going to bother to tell you how ridiculous that is.”

 

Megatron appeared from the closet, Oxford shirt half-unbuttoned and hanging out of his pants. “You _know_ what I mean.”

 

“I’m going to need you to be more specific,” Optimus said pleasantly as he found the latest _American Journal of International Law_. He found the article he’d bookmarked two days ago and opened it as he swiveled his legs under the covers. The padded headboard was comfortable to sit against, and he picked up his reading glasses off the nightstand.

 

Megatron growled and returned inside the closet. “He doesn’t have _respect_ for her academic work, unlike her respect for his. I could make a comment about the difference in treatment of STEM versus social sciences here, but...”

 

“I didn’t get that vibe at all.” Optimus turned the page. “He likes to tease her. If it was disrespect, she would have called him on it.” He looked over the rim of his glasses as Megatron appeared in pajama pants and a soft shirt. “You might know Starscream, but _I_ know Windblade, and she won’t tolerate him making light of her work.”

 

“Fine, since you know her so well,” Megatron slid under the covers and pulled his tablet from the cradle on his nightstand, “you tell _me_ what was going on tonight.”

 

“Windblade read him well, and he read her well. She picked up how unusual it was that he didn’t speak much, and when he wanted to leave, she neatly arranged it so they could without him being the obvious cause.” Optimus put down the journal. “They’re comfortable with each other in the way of familiarity.”

 

“They’re not good for each other long-term,” Megatron grumbled as he opened his Kindle app.

 

“Who cares about long-term right now? They’re both juniors in college, and they’ve got another year after this. Lots of things can happen in 18 months.”

 

“So basically, your choice is to wait and see.”

 

“Yep.”

 

“You say that about _everything_. Like the economy! Or political candidates!”

 

“It’s not bad advice,” Optimus said mildly, picking up his journal again. “We shouldn’t get involved at this stage. Unless they _ask_ us, we should stay out.”

 

“You are so boring,” Megatron complained.

 

“Yet you love me anyway.”

 

“...you need to stop using that to kill arguments.”

 

“Why, when it still works?”

 

\--

 

Nautica settled herself in her chair. “Let us discuss,” she said grandly. “What physical sensations does Starscream make you feel?”

 

“Are you really asking me to interrogate if I’m physically attracted to Starscream?” Windblade started to unwind her braid from her head, and she sighed as her scalp started to relax.

 

“Yes. Because there’s a difference between _feeling_ like you should be attracted to them and _actually_ feeling attracted to them. So. How does he make you feel?”

 

“I sleep on him,” Windblade mused. “I’m kind of touchy with him in a way I’m really not.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that. You’re only really that kind of touchy with me or Chromia. You don’t really touch men at all. So when he touches you, does your skin do the fizzy thing?”

 

“It depends on the context,” Windblade argued. “While situations can turn on a dime, if we’re flirting and he touches me, yes my skin does the fizzy thing, but if we’re having a hard conversation and I touch him, no, I don’t do the fizzy thing.”

 

“Still, that establishes first level of attraction. Have you two kissed yet?”

 

“No. Well. I have a weird half-memory of him kissing me on New Years, but it’s uncomfirmed. I think I dreamed it, honestly.”

 

“Do you remember how you felt? In the dream?”

 

“Not really,” Windblade felt just a _little_ rueful. “My dreams aren't that vivid.”

 

“Okay, so for the purpose of the conversation, it doesn’t count. _Have_ you two talked about your feelings?”

 

“Not...really.”

 

“I find it kind of interesting that you’ve spent a lot more time with him and you’ve also increased your levels of intimacy with him. Not sexual intimacy, but physical and emotional intimacy, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Nautica considered it. “What’s holding you back? Since there’s clearly something?”

 

“I don’t feel ready,” Windblade exhaled. “He makes me feel just a little anxious about the whole thing. I know he wants it, but I don’t know what _I_ want. Plus, there’s the whole—we work together in Magnus’ class, and we work well together, so I don’t want to ruin that.”

 

“What do you fear the most about this?” When Windblade opened her mouth, Nautica shook her head. “Fear _most_.”

 

“I can’t have them both.”

 

They both blinked at Windblade’s admission. “I’m...going to need you to broaden that one,” Nautica said as she recovered.

 

“I can’t be a diplomat and date Starscream,” Windblade clarified. “I want to spend more time abroad than Stateside, and that’s a pretty brutal career ladder.”

 

“It wouldn’t kill you to have something to come home to.”

 

“It’s not a fair stipulation to put on someone.”

 

“Okay, but why do you think that a potential relationship with Starscream would last that long and influence your choice?” Nautica rested her chin on her hand and put her elbow on the edge of the desk. “He’s kind of a shit, and you can only put up with that so long.”

 

“He was in love with Skyfire for _two years_ , Nautica. Even after Skyfire broke up with him and took up with other people. I’m pretty sure Starscream doesn’t do _any_ kind of relationship by halves.”

 

“You’re talking about him again, not you. What do you want?”

 

Windblade exhaled raggedly. “I have attachment issues, Nautica.”

 

“You do, but you don’t.”

 

“I don’t exactly follow.”

 

“Windy, you attach hard, but if it’s no longer healthy for you, you detach all your ties even if hurts during and after. There’s part of them that always stay with you, but time heals most things. So yes, I think you could sucker onto Starscream like the clingy octopus you are, but I also think that you’d recognize when he’d no longer be good for you and you could detach your sucker.” Besides, Nautica could have added but didn’t, you have severe commitment issues. There was no need to kick Windblade when she was already down.

 

“I think you’re mixing your metaphors.”

 

“Whatever, you know what I mean.” Nautica examined her. “Put all of your future stuff aside for now, because you can’t do anything about it right now. Do you want Starscream right now?”

 

“I can’t--.”

 

“Windblade. Put it aside for now. Do you want him?”

 

Windblade bit her lip. “I’m not sure. I think I want him. But I don’t want to start a relationship on ‘I think.’ I want it to be ‘I know.’”

 

“What would it take to get to the ‘I know’?”

 

“I don’t know. I think it’s a emotional thing, and those I find harder to control.”

 

“Okay.” Nautica got up and climbed onto the bed, and she pulled Windblade into a hug. Windblade hugged her back, burying her face in Nautica’s shoulder. Nautica stroked her hair. “I’ll leave it alone now, but you know you can talk to me about this.”

 

“Yes,” Windblade whispered.

 

Chromia knocked on the open door. “Is it cuddle time?”

 

“It’s cuddle time,” Nautica confirmed, and Chromia grinned as she toed off her shoes.

 

“Cuddle time I can do.”

 

\--

 

Starscream frowned at the screen door. All of the windows were open—though the screens prevented the earliest of pests from feeling overly welcome. The screen door was open, and there was no smell of anything cooking to justify the door being open.

 

“Windblade?”

 

She appeared in the hall, her hair tied up in a ballet bun and in her usual oversized sweater and leggings for when she was cold. “Door’s open, Starscream.”

 

“Why are all of your windows open?”

 

“Climate control’s on the fritz,” she blew into a tissue and threw it out. “And we can’t get it checked until tomorrow, and I can’t stand still air.”

 

“And you’re dripping.”

 

She threw a dirty look at him. The fact that her eyes were watery hurt it not at all. “Allergies, you tool. The first week of pollen is always the hardest.”

 

“Don’t they have medication for that?” he asked with disdain as he followed her into the kitchen.

 

“The only effective one puts me in a coma-like state,” she blew her nose again. “And I have things to do.”

 

The kitchen had two trashcans partially filled with tissues, and two tissue boxes were on the table. There was a teapot, no doubt mostly empty by that point, and Windblade’s usual chair was covered by a blanket. He checked her feet and—yep, bright blue fuzzy socks. “You’re cold?”

 

“No, I’m just standing here because I’m comfortable,” she snarked, removing the teakettle from the stove and taking it to the sink. “ _Please_ stop talking. I have a sinus headache so bad I think I might possibly pass out.”

 

He shook his head. “Why are you still up if your head hurts so bad?”

 

“Because we made plans and you get so bent out of shape if I break them for anything less than a death in the family.”

 

“You’re meaner when you’re sick.”

 

“I learned it from you,” she said sweetly, putting the lid back on the kettle and taking it to the stove.

 

His frown deepened. “Go back to bed.”

 

“But now you’re here,” she sing-songed. “It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

 

“Windblade--.”

 

“Oh hush,” she snapped, reaching for a tissue. “I’ve had allergies before and I’ll have them again, I’ll _live_. In the meantime, we have two more presentations before the end of the semester and I would like them mostly locked up, please.”

 

He stopped her from heading to the table. “Go take a shower.”

 

“I’m perfectly clean!”

 

“That’s not the point. The hot water and the steam will help you feel better. I will clean,” he wrinkled his nose, “ _this_ mess. Go.”

 

She stared at him. “It’s fine. Really.”

 

“Do I need to actually put you in the shower or can you get yourself there?”

 

She scowled at him. “You’re an ass.”

 

“That hasn’t changed. _Go_.”

 

She flipped him the bird but left the kitchen, and he scanned the room before he remembered that Windblade kept rubber gloves under the sink—not that she ever used them to clean the dishes, but “It was the thought that counts.” He found them and pulled them on, and he started to grab the trash bags.

 

He’d managed to clear the kitchen and replace the bags, and he could hear the shower turn off. He presumed she would be appearing shortly, and the tea was waiting for her. He peered through her cabinets—he didn’t have issues with allergies the way she did, but he guessed they were kind of a like a perpetual cold? So maybe some soup?

 

Anything to help her nose run and get it to clear.

 

He found a can of soup, and he was considering whether to warm it up over the stove or in the microwave when Windblade stood in the doorway. Her hair had been dried and was braided over her shoulder, and he felt a little disappointed he _still_ had yet to see her hair down. He indicated it. “You don’t think it’s warm enough to dry your hair?”

 

She was adjusting her oversized sweater, and she looked up at him. Her eyes were red, and she reached for a tissue. “I’m thinking of taking a Benadryl and heading to sleep, actually,” she admitted quietly. Her voice was raspier than before the shower, and he was almost concerned. “I really am sorry, but this headache just won’t quit.”

 

He reached out to gently tilt her chin up. She let him, leaning into the hold just slightly. “You don’t look well,” he said.

 

“Well, that’s better than being told I look like shit.” She was cheered by that, but it wasn’t much better.

 

He told her that, and she rolled her eyes at him. “I knew I could count on you to keep me humble.” She stepped past him for the small pantry where she kept medications, and as she went rooting around for the medication, there was a knock at the door.

 

“Can you get that?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at him. “It’s probably Mrs. Johnson, I promised her I’d make her some cookies for her grandchildren for them to decorate for Easter.”

 

“She doesn’t like me,” he grumbled at her.

 

“There are worse things to deal with. Please?”

 

“Only because you said _please_.”

 

The woman standing on the porch was not Mrs. Johnson. Judging from the woman’s nose and cheekbones, he guessed she was Windblade’s mother. “Hello,” he said. “I’m Starscream.”

 

“Starscream? Who’s—oh. Mother. Hello.”

 

Tension dropped like a wet blanket, and Starscream stepped off to the side to let her mother in. “I wanted to surprise you,” her mother said with a shy smile. She was carrying a bag, and Starscream offered to take it. “Yes, thank you.”

 

“You certainly surprised me,” Windblade said. She looked a little gobsmacked, and once they were standing side by side, Starscream saw more resemblances beyond their nose and cheekbones. In fact, the only differences they seemed to have were Windblade’s blue eyes and her height.

 

For the first time, he wondered who her father was.

 

“Well, I know this is always the time you have the worst allergies, so I brought you a care package and I thought I’d spend some time with you when you weren’t as concerned with schooling. I’ve delegated to Pyra for perhaps the first time.”

 

_Finally_ , Windblade relaxed slightly to step forward and to brush a kiss against her mother’s cheek. “Delegation is good for you,” she said.

 

“Yes, well, I’m trying it. And this young man...Starscream? Windblade, I don’t believe you’ve mentioned him before.”

 

“Oh, now that hurts,” he placed a hand over his heart. “After all we’ve had? Windblade, the least you could do is mention me to your mother.”

 

Her mother looked intrigued, while Windblade’s eyes shone with panic. “Windblade,” her mother nudged her.

 

“Er, well, um, Starscream and I are study partners, we’ve been working together since last September. Since my schedule changed, we’ve been working together more.” Windblade’s cheeks were steadily reddening, and her mother snapped at it the way parents did.

 

“But surely--,” her mother looked from her to him, and he smiled in his most patronizing way.

 

Windblade tensed, and he took his golden opportunity. “Windblade,” he chided, moving across the hall to wrap his arm around her, and she was too frozen in shock to push away from him. “That is the _least_ of it.”

 

Her mother started to smile; so then, she was not as stiff as she looked. “Windblade,” she said, reaching for her. “You don’t have to lie to me. I know you try to keep your reserve, but it’s not necessary.”

 

“Mother, it’s really not--,” she looked desperate for a change of subject.

 

He was feeling just a little too smug to let it go _so_ quickly. “She’s so modest,” he commented to her mother. “Has that happened before?”

 

“Oh, yes.” Her mother’s eyes were amber, and she looked so happy through the small smile that Starscream offhandedly wondered if it would break her heart to learn that her daughter wasn’t actually romantically involved with anyone. “She dated two people in high school, and she was never happy with showing affection in front of others.”

 

“Mother, please--.”

 

“It’s true,” her mother continued. The smile dropped from her face as she added, “I believe that was the main reason they broke it off.”

 

“ _Mother_.” Windblade looked mortified, and finally Starscream chose to change the subject.

 

“What did you bring, if you don’t mind me asking?” He lifted up the bag, and her mother reached across him for it.

 

“Oh, just the usual staples. Different allergy medications, a Neti pot, some iron pills since I know your allergies tend to kill your appetite so you have to take more than usual, and your favorite soup.”

 

Windblade brightened. “Made special?”

 

“Made special,” her mother agreed. “I’ll go put it in the fridge.” She excused herself, and Windblade pushed herself out of Starscream’s grasp.

 

“Don’t do that,” she hissed softly at him. “My mother doesn’t know about you.”

 

“And whose fault is that?” He looked her over. “I will be the _perfect gentleman_.”

 

“You’re not either--.”

 

“Windblade, this tea is cold, I’m going to make fresh!”

 

“Coming, Mother.” She pointed at him as she walked past him. “Don’t be an asshole this once, _please_.”

 

He followed her into the kitchen, and her mother glanced around. “Somehow, I was expecting more tissues.”

 

“Oh, that was me,” Starscream straightened. “I felt that being entombed alive in a mass of tissues was hardly a good way to go.”

 

Windblade flicked her eyes at him in confusion, and her mother brightened. “So you came over to help take care of her? That’s so kind. Windblade, you know I think you should ask for help more.”

 

Watching Windblade die a little on the inside was far more entertaining than he had thought it would be. “Mother, yes, but--.”

 

“It was pure happenstance,” he interrupted. “I came over for our usual studying, but when I found she was utterly miserable, I couldn’t just leave her. I made her take a shower, but as you can see, the tea got cold.”

 

“That’s so thoughtful,” her mother said, and Windblade cringed a little more. “Let me heat up the soup, and then to bed with you. You need to get some sleep.”

 

“I was just telling her that.” Starscream leaned against the counter. From what it looked like, her mother was now solidly in his corner, and Windblade recognized that. “She needs the rest.”

 

“Stop colluding,” Windblade accused.

 

“We wouldn’t need to collude if you took proper care of yourself,” her mother said in the mild tone Windblade used when she was making a pointed observation that other people would say sharply.

 

Windblade and her mother were _very_ similar.

 

“I do take proper care of myself,” Windblade protested, her cheeks reddening again. “I’ve been taking non-drowsy Benadryl and plenty of showers.”

 

“Where are your roommates?”

 

Windblade’s eyes narrowed. “Their responsibility is not to take care of me, Mother. Nautica made plans to go camping with some friends of hers weeks ago, and Chromia works. It’s not fair to ask either of them to look after me when I’m used to this.”

 

“Here I am,” Starscream said cheerfully as the tension returned. “Windblade, eat your soup so you can nap. I’m sure I can entertain your mother in the meantime. There’s so much to talk about.”

 

Windblade paled. “Oh—um--.”

 

“That does sound lovely,” her mother agreed. “Soup’s ready, love.”

 

Windblade looked ready to writhe, but she sat down to eat. Her mother bustled around the kitchen, and Starscream sat down opposite her. “What kind of soup is it?”

 

“A vegetable soup with plenty of garlic and ginger,” her mother said. “Windblade, when was the last time you went grocery shopping?”

 

“Last week,” Windblade mumbled.

 

“I’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow, and I’ll compile a list tonight. If there’s anything you’d like to add, feel free to do so.”

 

“Yes mother.”

 

“Are you finished?”

 

“Yes mother.”

 

Starscream frowned at her, but she wasn’t meeting his eyes. That tone...he knew that tone. He’d heard it before, but it had been directed at— _him_. It was the tone she’d used when he had been deliberately rude to her that time at Thunderclash’s. Why was she using it with her mother?

 

“Put your dish in the sink, I’ll take care of it. Go on to bed now.”

 

She stood up a little unsteadily, and he reached out to steady her. She stepped out of his reach and toddled off to her room, and once the door closed, her mother turned to him. “So how long have you two been...?”

 

“Not very long. We worked together far longer.”

 

“I get so concerned for her,” her mother said softly. “She doesn’t talk to me like she used to, so while I get the big news, like the change in her job or that the couch arrived, I don’t get the day to day.”

 

It was immediately obvious where she was going, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He knew how _Windblade_ would feel about it.

 

“She works very hard.”

 

“Yes, she does.” Her mother quirked her lips upward slightly. “She always has. I’ve always admired that.”

 

“Does she get it from you?”

 

She raised her eyebrows. “Hm, perhaps. My work ethic always shone in the areas I cared the most for. Her work ethic is in everything.”

 

“She gets her reserve from you,” he remarked. “Tea?”

 

“Please. And that’s questionable.”

 

“So from her father, then?” From the little Windblade had said about her mother, he had expected someone who was much more open in their manners, but the barbed back and forth reminded him of Megatron in a way, and he relished it. There was a certain amount of enjoyment in that kind of give-and-take with someone you didn’t particularly care for.

 

“Oh, certainly not. But not every personality trait can be traced to parents. Some things originate from the person in general. For example, your tendency to bait in the hopes of garnering an emotional reaction. Is that something from your parents or something you nurtured yourself?”

 

_Touché._ “I found I had an aptitude,” he said breezily. “It would be a shame not to encourage my...aptitudes.”

 

“Not everything should be encouraged,” she looked him over as he put on the teakettle.

 

“Perhaps not. But we were talking about Windblade.”

 

“Indeed.” The air of a confessor ferreting out the truth faded from her. “Can you—is she--,” she took a deep breath. “How is she? Truly.”

 

“Apart from her allergies?” He shrugged as he went to find a teabag. “I think she’s all right. She’s sleeping better.”

 

“Yes, I’ve noticed that.” She straightened slightly. “But you wouldn’t actually tell me anything worth knowing. Her trust is worth too much to you.”

 

“More like if she hasn’t told you something, it’s probably not that important.”

 

“She didn’t tell me about you.”

 

He shrugged. “How do you explain me, exactly? I’m not a typical relationship.”

 

“And you’re proud of that?”

 

“More like she has her reasons. She has a right to them.”

 

The tea was just about done steeping, and he removed the teabag and brought the teapot to the table. “Look, everything she’s told me about your relationship with her has been, well, lacking. So whatever it is, whatever you two need to work out, keep me out of it.”

 

Her mouth tightened. “I see.”

 

He sat down again. “Can I ask a question?”

 

“You certainly have the capacity.”

 

“She sees you about four days out of the year. For the first time in three years, you manage to delegate enough to come see her for a few days? Why couldn’t you do that before? Seminaries have breaks too.”

 

“She had a different schedule,” her mother bit out. “No matter what days I would come to visit, she would always have to work. It wouldn’t be fair.”

 

“To her or to you?”

 

“Does it matter?”

 

Yes. It did. “Guess not.” He stood up. “I’m going to use the bathroom.”

 

She gestured at him, and he left the kitchen. He quietly opened Windblade’s door to see her curled around a pillow, fast asleep, and he closed it again. If she heard him getting into it with her mother, he would never hear the end of it.

 

When he came back, her mother had put herself together again, and she cupped a mug between her hands. “So where is your family from?”

 

“Virginia,” he said, deliberately adopting his mother’s drawl. Strange, how he could take it off and on like a coat. “Well. My mother’s family, at least. My father was from Alabama or thereabouts.”

 

“Where did your parents meet?”

 

“Washington, DC. My father was representing NASA at a Congressional hearing, my mother was there to meet with a representative. It was true love, apparently.”

 

“You sound skeptical.”

 

“I’m sure true love can be found, but not in Congress. My foster-father was a senator, and he told stories that could make even the straightest hair curl wildly.”

 

“How long were they married before they had you?”

 

“It doesn’t really matter. They died when I was sixteen and in boarding school, and I’d been attending boarding school since I was 12.”

 

“Ah, so you’re one of those.”

 

“One of those?”

 

“A child who grew up in a family with too much money and too little restriction.”

 

Anger made him clench his jaw for a moment. “You’re welcome to believe whatever you like.”

 

Windblade’s door opening made them both pause, and Windblade stumbled into the kitchen, her eyes at half-mast. She toddled over to Starscream and landed in his lap, and he stabilized her immediately. She tucked her face against his neck and mumbled, “Nautica’s texting me, can you reply for me?”

 

Her free hand held her phone, and he made a mental note to badger her to upgrade. “She says she got rained out, but they should be home in a few hours. They want to bring dinner by and have a lazy night.”

 

“Mmkay,” she exhaled onto his neck and nuzzled her face further into his skin. His pulse jumped, and he had to clear his throat.

 

“You want them over?”

 

“Nautica’ll keep Brainstorm in line, and Percy’ll split before he gets here.”

 

It was difficult to type into her small phone with both arms around her, but he managed, and when he looked over Windblade’s shoulder at her mother, the other woman was stiff. “I should go back to my hotel. Windblade, I’ll be by tomorrow morning.”

 

“Mmkay.” She waved her hand at her mom before, for all appearances, falling back asleep on Starscream. Her chest was pressed against him, and while her heartbeat was slow, he’d learned how she slept by that point and knew she was faking.

 

“Have a good evening, ma’am,” he wished her mother, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “I hope to see you soon.”

 

Windblade’s hand tightened around his collar.

 

“You too,” her mother said flatly. “It was such an enlightening conversation.”

 

“I feel much more aware now.”

 

Her mother turned on her heel and left, and Windblade stayed on his lap. “Why did you get onto my lap?” he inquired.

 

“Nothing would,” she yawned, “make her more suspicious than me showing you physical affection in front of her. She wasn’t lying about it being a big factor in why my relationships ended.” She leaned back to look up at him through her lashes. “Why were you sniping at my mother?”

 

He tugged on the end of her braid. “Would you have come up with that kind of plan if you weren’t half-asleep?”

 

“Probably not. Why were you sniping at my mother?”

 

“You should go back to sleep.”

 

“Maybe.” She yawned again. “Answer the question, Starscream.”

 

He could tell her the truth, but why start now? “Because I could, mostly. You get your wit from her.”

 

She tried to push herself off his lap, but she stumbled, and he caught her. “Starscream, I asked you not to be an asshole.”

 

“I just couldn’t help myself.”

 

“Starscream, let _go_ of me.” She tried to push herself up, but the aftereffects of the allergy drug made her stumble again.

 

“I have no interest in taking you to the hospital because you hit your head. Again.”

 

“You sat there and lied to my mother about the fact that we’re together and then you sniped at her? _Really?_ ”  

 

“I found our exchange refreshing,” he said, straight-faced. “We can have this conversation after you go back to bed.”

 

She scowled at him, but the entire effort was ruined by the jaw-breaking yawn that broke her concentration. He scooped her up in his arms, and she was too tired to fight him. “M’still mad at you,” her voice was muffled through his chest, and he looked down at her with a paternalistic smile.

 

“Oh, I know. And you can be mad at me once you’ve allowed the Benadryl-induced coma to take its’ course.” He laid her down in bed and pulled the covers over her. “Are you comfortable?”

 

“Yes, damn you.”

 

He bestowed a mocking kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be in the living room.”

 

She batted at him, but the siren call of the blankets was too much for her, and she was asleep before he left the room. He checked her phone in the kitchen—she _really_ needed to password-protect it—and apparently Nautica was fine with his response. They were two hours out, and he went to get his laptop. He could get some work done while Windblade slept.

 

He was frowning at the bit Skyfire had submitted for their research presentation when he became aware he was being watched, and he looked up to see Windblade leaning heavily against the wall with a frown. “So you’re up,” he said as he closed the laptop.

 

“I am,” she agreed.

 

“Benadryl coma dealt with?”

 

“Yes.” Her eyes were sharp, sharper than he was used to dealing with. “Why did you snipe at my mother?”

 

“So we’re going to fight about this.”

 

“We are definitely going to fight about this.”

 

He picked up his laptop and went into the kitchen. She followed after him, clutching onto the wall for support, and he turned on her once his laptop was put away. “Why didn’t you tell me about your mom?”

 

She blinked. “Tell you what?”

 

“How--,” he gestured wildly, “ _off_ it is between the two of you.”

 

“I told you about my mother--.”

 

“No, you _didn’t_. You told me that your relationship was strained, you told me about how you barely see her. If you had told me that ‘strained’ to you means ‘wildly dysfunctional’ to me, I would have been better prepared!”

 

Her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth thinned. “I expected you to show some basic decency,” she snapped, “because you want to _fuck_ me and part of that means accepting certain relationships as they stand. That’s how relationships work. You don’t have to fix my relationship with my mother, but it is what it is! I asked you not to be an asshole!”

 

“I have no interest in fixing your relationship with your mother,” he fought to keep his voice even. “But if you’re interested in this going _any_ further, there has to be equal disclosure!”

 

“Oh really?” She stepped closer to him, her eyes full of fire. “Then why don’t you tell me who punched you? Because you don’t want me to know it was _Megatron?_ Equal disclosure has to go both ways. I don’t question your dysfunction with Megatron, but I gave you the space to _tell_ me!”

 

“That was the whole point of the ten minutes as a concept!” he exploded, and she took a half-step back. “I asked about your mother specifically! You _lied_ to me!”

 

“I didn’t lie! And we’re avoiding the issue. You deliberately were an asshole to my mother! Did you do it because I asked you not to? I thought we’d established some sort of basic trust, damnit!”

 

Outside, Nautica halted. Behind her, Brainstorm tilted his head. “What’s wrong, Nautica?”

 

“Um, Brainstorm, why don’t you head on home?” she forced a smile for him. “I know we were going to do dinner, but I don’t think Windblade is up for it.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

From inside, they both heard, “You seriously think that your lack of information given to me so that I could navigate a meeting with your mother wasn’t a breach of basic trust?!”

 

“On second thought,” Brainstorm flashed a smile at her. “I will see you tomorrow.”

 

“Yeah, definitely.” She sat down on the edge of the porch and waited for him to go. Once he’d started up his ancient truck and left, she pulled out her phone to call Thundercracker. If there was anyone who could help manage Starscream in a tantrum, it would be him.

 

Inside, Starscream was finding it _really fucking difficult_ not to advance on Windblade and shake her. She was standing her ground, her shoulders braced, but her mouth was quivering slightly. “No matter what happens with her, she’s my _mother_ ,” she said, her voice starting to shake. “I know you weren’t close to yours, but that doesn’t mean you project that relationship onto everyone else’s!”

 

He froze, and she shrunk in slightly. “I’m sorry, that was--.”

 

He stepped over to her very quickly, anger thrumming through his veins. Fury had left her, leaving fear in every line of her body, and he forced himself not to touch her. “You want to talk about trust?” His voice was very quiet, and her eyes widened. “Fine. Let’s put this in terms of _trust_. I _trusted_ you to tell me some of your issues, because that’s what friends do. I _trusted_ that you would know I’d behave around people you care about. And finally, I _trusted_ that you would let me back you up!”

 

“You didn’t trust me,” her voice was harsh. “You demanded and prodded and some things have to come in their own time! You’re behaving like I knew my mother was coming and that I—I betrayed you somehow by not giving you more information! I barely understand my relationship with her on a good day, let alone when I’m sick and miserable! Solus, what are we even _doing_ here?”

 

Outside, Thundercracker froze in the middle of perching of the step of the porch. “How long have they been arguing like this?”

 

Nautica checked her phone. “Since I got here, about ten minutes. It was probably going on for longer than that, though.”

 

“You going inside?”

 

“ _Hell_ no. Windy’s yelling. If she’s yelling, she’s _pissed_ , and I don’t want to get in the middle of that.”

 

“He’s pissed.” Thundercracker checked his watch. “If they keep yelling for another few minutes, we should probably interrupt.”

 

She swallowed. “Yeah, okay.”

 

“What are we even doing here? We’ve been waiting! For you!” Starscream forced himself to take two steps away from her. Windblade was hugging herself, her face too pale. “For you to make up your mind!” He turned to look at her. “If anything, I should be asking what _I_ am doing here!”

 

“I don’t know!” she shouted. “I don’t know what you want!”

 

“It’s not about what I want, it’s about what _we_ want, damnit!”

 

She scowled. “Which is so great that we’ve talked about it.”

 

He rolled his eyes and stepped across the kitchen. She braced herself, her shoulders set, and he looked down at her—at her reddened eyes, her too-pale face, and how her sweater hid the lines of her body. She flinched slightly when he reached for her, but she relaxed slightly when he framed her face between his hands. That was normal territory. She could deal with that.

 

Then he kissed her.

 

Nautica’s head came up. “It’s quiet.”

 

“That could be all right,” Thundercracker said uncertainly.

 

She looked at him. “Do you really think so?”

 

“No.” He sighed. “I’ll go brave the mess.”

 

“I’ll go with you. Maybe if it’s a united front, we can deal with it better.”

 

He nodded. “Good plan.” They stood up, and just as they went to open the door, Starscream shoved it open and stomped through it. He didn’t even seem to _see_ them, and they looked at each other.

 

“You take care of yours and I’ll take care of mine?” Nautica offered.

 

“Better plan.” Thundercracker took off after Starscream, and Nautica brushed the dust from her pants before entering the house.

 

“Windblade? I’m home.”

 

A sob answered her, and Nautica dropped the veneer to rush to the kitchen. Windblade was hunched against the counter and sitting on the floor, her face in her hands, and Nautica dropped to her knees. “Sweetie? Oh sweetheart, what happened?” She pulled Windblade’s hands away from her face with difficulty, but the rough edge to her worry faded when there wasn’t any redness or bruising.

 

Not that Nautica thought Starscream would hit Windblade, but. Well. It was a valid concern.

 

Windblade sobbed more, and Nautica pulled her into her arms. “Oh sweetie,” she said helplessly. “What happened?”

 

“N-n-nothing,” Windblade hiccupped. “S’all my fault.”

 

“Oh, Windy, no.”

 

“Yes,” she groped for a tissue and Nautica pressed one into her hand. She blew her nose, and then she looked at Nautica. “It’s all my fault.” Her face twisted. “He’s never going to forgive me.”

 

“Very little is unforgiveable,” Nautica reminded her.

 

A sob caught in Windblade’s throat. “Not to him.” She broke down crying again, and Nautica tucked her against her chest.

 

“Oh sweetie. It will be all right.”

 

\--

 

Megatron loomed over Starscream on the couch. The effect was somewhat ruined by Bitch happily purring over Megatron’s shoulder. “Thundercracker informs me you have been sulking.”

 

Starscream ignored him in favor of turning up the volume on _Steven Universe_.

 

“Starscream.”

 

“What?” he snapped.

 

Megatron dumped Bitch on his lap, and while Starscream yelped as Bitch dug his claws into Starscream’s thighs, Megatron rescued the remote control and turned off the television. “What _happened_?” he demanded as he sat down next to Starscream.

 

Bitch made a pleased noise and climbed onto Megatron’s lap, where he curled up and went to sleep.

 

Starscream’s sulk extended into a pout. “I—fought with Windblade.”

 

“That much I gathered.”

 

Starscream looked at him. “You love me, right?”

 

Megatron blinked. “Yes.”

 

“And my parents loved me.”

 

“Yes, I believe so.”

 

Starscream hunched his shoulders. “And you’d never ask Thundercracker or Skywarp or Skyfire for information on me that I wasn’t giving you.”

 

Megatron’s eyebrows lifted. “...no.”

 

“...Windblade’s mom came by for a surprise visit.”

 

“...Ah.”

 

“Yeah. And, like, since Windblade was in an allergy drug coma, her mom was trying to get this information out of me, because Windblade hadn’t told, but I was pretty much like ‘so if she didn’t tell you, then it’s probably not that important,’ but her mom’s like so much more barbed than Windblade is? Pretty much Windblade without her roommates, I guess. So we were going back and forth, and Windblade managed to drag herself out of her coma long enough to hear the end of it, and then we fought about how I was rude to her mom.”

 

“Did you tell Windblade why you were being rude?” Megatron asked patiently.

 

“No. I mean, it would be totally obvious!”

 

“Right. _Completely_ obvious.” Megatron looked him over. “What’s bothering you more, the fight or the fact that Windblade’s human, with human relationships and dysfunction within those relationships?”

 

“She didn’t give me the full picture,” Starscream raged. “I _asked_ her about her mom, and she was like ‘oh, it’s a strained relationship.’ There’s a difference between strain and dysfunction!”

 

Megatron closed his eyes in a bid for patience. “Two things. #1—she’s not obligated to tell you something she’s not comfortable with you knowing. That kind of give-and-take takes time. It took Optimus _two years_ to tell me his wife had disappeared in the middle of the night and that was why he was hesitant to go out in public with me. #2—she’s reserved. You’ve noted it, _I’ve_ noted it. Understatement is how she _works_.”

 

Starscream started pouting again.

 

“But that’s not the end of it.”

 

“Nope.”

 

Megatron waited, but Starscream didn’t say anything else. He waited a beat or two, and then he turned the television back on. Starscream would talk when he wanted to.

 

They watched through two _Steven Universe_ episodes when Starscream grumbled, “She doesn’t know what she wants.”

 

“Romantically?”

 

“Apparently.”

 

“And that bothers you.”

 

“To me, the objective observer--.”

 

“Uh- _huh_.”

 

Starscream ignored that. “To me, the objective observer, it seems like she wants, well, me. You don’t just—do the things she does without meaning.”

 

Megatron didn’t say anything to that. Starscream needed to come to his conclusions on his own, unless he came to the wrong conclusion and therefore needed to be corrected. But he _hadn’t_ come to a conclusion yet, so Megatron could wait to say something.

 

They watched through another _Steven Universe_ episode when Starscream exhaled. “But it’s possible I was only seeing what I wanted to see. I mean, I think she feels _something_ , but maybe I was projecting.”

 

Megatron hummed the theme song. It was very catchy.

 

“Or maybe she was just leading me on.”

 

Megatron glared at him. Windblade wasn’t that deceptive.

 

“ _Fine_ , so it was my fault.”

 

Megatron’s humming picked up another note of cheerfulness.

 

“You’re the worst.”

 

Megatron patted him on the arm. “Not quite. But you feel better.”

 

Starscream looked miserable. “Only slightly.”

 

\--

 

Chromia stood by Windblade’s door. “Are you coming out to dinner tonight?”

 

Windblade uncurled from her nest of blankets a little. “No.”

 

“Windblade...”

 

“I have research to do.”

 

“So that’s the excuse tonight,” Chromia said sharply. “Last night it was that you needed to shave, last _week_ it was that you had some translation work for Prime. It’s been two weeks since you fought with Starscream. You need to get over it.”

 

“I’m not coming,” Windblade said with dignity, “because I need to get some research done, and Thundercracker has invited me to a party.”

 

Chromia paused. “...you don’t usually go to a party when you’re upset.”

 

“I will be fine.”

 

“Really.”

 

“I will be.”

 

Chroma sighed. “Is the hooch in the cabinet untouched?”

 

Windblade frowned at her. “Hooch is for _special_ occasions, Chromia.”

 

“Oh good. Your debilitating guilt and anger doesn’t qualify, I’m so pleased.”

 

Windblade stiffened. “Chromia.”

 

“Whatever, you’re fine, right?”

 

Windblade descended back into her nest of blankets. She’d gotten a lot of work done over the past two weeks once her interaction with Starscream was limited to awkward greetings at the beginning of class, and they’d been emailing their contributions to each other in lieu of actually meeting in person.

 

Work had gotten done, but Windblade _missed_ him. The hostility that had marked their last fight had been dialed down by several notches over the past two weeks, but he barely looked at her and didn’t touch her. She’d offended him deeply, she knew that, but she didn’t know how to describe the swirling knots of emotion that settled in her stomach whenever she looked at him.

 

She had tried to parse it, but only once. It left her nauseous with the headache from hell, and so she hoped it would solve itself in time.

 

Thundercracker had messaged her with the invitation to the ‘Preparation for Finals or WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE’ party (Skywarp had apparently named it), and she suspected that the cost of the invitation was an information-swap. She had every intention of getting absolutely sloshed, so he would probably get the full story.

  

A cab was coming in an hour, and she needed to get dressed. She didn’t need to be fancy, but she also didn’t want to wear anything that would be difficult to take off once she was too sloshed to see properly.

 

She was going to have the world’s worst hangover, but it would be worth it if she had a break from the guilt that refused to leave her. She made sure to leave a trashcan (with a lining; she might be courting a hangover, but she had _no_ desire to clean up sick by hand) by her bed as well as two water bottles and her bottle of painkillers.

 

She found a soft black shirt in her closest and one of her few pairs of jeans, and after she’d pulled them on, she went searching for her sneakers. She rarely wore them, preferring flats, but she was trying for casual.

 

She still put on red lipstick and eyeliner, though.

 

From there, she found her linguistic anthropology study and forced herself to concentrate. She had a responsibility to get _something_ done before she cut loose.

 

Within an hour and a half, she was knocking on Thundercracker’s door. When he let her in, the party was smaller than the other time he’d invited her along, and he lurched forward to kiss her on the cheek. “Welcome.”

 

“Is--,” she swallowed, but Thundercracker was already answering.

 

“No, he’s spending the night at the lab. The conference is next weekend, and he’s not quite happy with the presentation yet.”

 

“Oh, okay.”

 

“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he assured her. “Skywarp has a selection of shots for you to try.”

 

“I shouldn’t have told him I liked flavored vodkas.”

 

“You’re his new drinking buddy until proven otherwise,” Thundercracker agreed. He squeezed her shoulder. “Have fun.”

 

“Windblade!” Skywarp hollered. “Come try this pink lemonade shot!”

 

She breathed in deeply and squared her shoulders. “What’s in it?” she demanded as she came over. Her phone and small wallet were attached to her belt, so she wasn’t afraid of losing those things.

 

Skywarp considered it. “Raspberry vodka and lemon liqueur?”

 

“It sounds good,” she said grudgingly.

 

He beamed at her. “Bottom’s up!”

 

She breathed out sharply after she’d swallowed. “Oh. Wow.”

 

“Good, right?” Skywarp pulled another tray over. “Buttery Nipple?”

 

“We have to pace ourselves.”

 

“One more shot, and then we’ll wait a bit,” Skywarp bargained.

 

“Fine.” She brandished her hand. “Gimme.”

 

The second shot made her feel just a little woozy, but she was determined to think it was all right. She’d spent the majority of the last two weeks unhappy and stressed; the wooziness was a nice break.

 

The area between the couch and the desks had been cleared, and while the music wasn’t pounding—probably to keep Prowl from bringing down the wrath of campus police onto their heads—it was loud enough that Windblade caught herself moving in time to the beat. She didn’t dance often, but she was just tipsy enough to think it was a good idea in a room full of strangers.

 

A voice, sounding suspiciously like Chromia’s, said in the back of her head, ‘ _You’re too drunk to make thoughtful decisions.’_

 

Who the hell cares? she shot back.

 

Skywarp was tracking her, and when she caught him, he grinned. “Wanna dance?”

 

“Why not?” she said aloud.

 

Skywarp wasn’t a good dancer, but he kept his hands at her waist and he looked her in the eye, and that was better than some partners she’d had. Her feet went mostly unscathed, but she wrote that down to two shots plus whatever Skywarp had had before she arrived, instead of an inherent clumsiness.

 

As he spun her around, she saw Thundercracker was watching them with narrowed eyes, but she deliberately put it out of her head. She was there to have fun, not to figure out how her performance would be analyzed in conjunction with Starscream’s recent behavioral shift.

 

“You okay there, Windy?”

 

“Don’t call me that,” she said automatically. “And yeah, I’m fine.”

 

Skywarp relaxed slightly. “More shots?” he asked hopefully.

 

She put away the last of her reserve and smiled brightly. “Yes please.”

 

\--

 

Starscream banged his head against the desk. Skyfire, bless his heart, was doing his best, but writing had never been his strong suit. Starscream wasn’t so bad with it, but he had to parse what Skyfire was saying and the data he was reporting in order to rewrite it, and he was running on roughly six hours of sleep from the last three days.

 

He needed a break, but Thundercracker had one of his damned ‘let’s get drunk’ parties and there was absolutely no way he’d be able to sleep in those conditions.

 

As if thinking about him had conjured him, Starscream’s phone shrilled Thundercracker’s ringtone.

 

“What?” he rasped into the phone.

 

“You need to get here.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because your girl’s had six shots in an hour and fifteen minutes, and her roommates aren’t picking up when I call. Whatever the hell you did, it left a mark.”

 

He blinked. “How is it _my_ fault?”

 

“It’s always your fault.”

 

“That isn’t--.”

 

“Starscream, she’s gonna pass out soon. If she does that here, I’m putting her in your bed and letting her vomit all over your floor. Understand?”

 

“You’re as bad as Bitch.”

 

“Damn straight.” Thundercracker hung up, and Starscream glared at his work.

 

It wasn’t going to get done that night, and he packed away his stuff before fumbling for his car keys. Strange, how he hadn’t seemed to need to need his car in the fall semester but needed it more in the spring.

 

He blamed Skyfire--and Perceptor. The boyfriend was actively keeping Skyfire from him.

 

He texted Thundercracker when he got to Nemesis, and Thundercracker was waiting for him by the elevator. “How bad?” he asked, clipped.

 

Thundercracker fell into step with him like he’d never been angry with him. “Bad. Skywarp talked her into dancing with him.”

 

Jealousy swamped his mind before he pushed it back. She didn’t want the same things he did; he had no right to feel jealous. “So when I show up...”

 

“Skywarp’s betting she’s gonna throw things, but I think she might just cry.”

 

“Thanks.” Starscream rolled his eyes at Thundercracker and opened the door.

 

“Windblade! Ride’s here.”

 

He hadn’t known what quite to expect—Windblade crying on someone or worse, _dancing_ with someone—but he got a brief, “Brace yourself,” from Thundercracker before she threw herself into his arms.

 

He staggered back a step to catch his footing, and he gripped her more carefully. He should probably stop trying to predict her behavior, especially since she was resting her chin on his shoulder. “Missed you,” she mumbled, tightening her grip around his shoulders.

 

He looked over her to Thundercracker. “I’m—going to take her home. How soon is this going to be wrapped up?”

 

“Soon.”

 

“Okay.” He tucked Windblade a little more comfortably against him, and she sighed happily.

 

She reeked of alcohol, but her lipstick and eyeliner hadn’t smeared in the slightest. Then again, it was a little past eight, and she’d only been there for little over an hour. Thundercracker believed in starting early so everything was wrapped up by midnight. “How much did you drink?” he asked her as they moved to the elevator.

 

He could feel her frown. “Four? No, five. Wait.”

 

The elevator dinged, and she shrugged. “Doesn’t matter?”

 

“Hmph.”

 

“Are you mad I drank?” she asked anxiously. The alcohol was deepening the slight drawl to her words, and her words were coming in short bursts, like her mind could only form fragments instead of full sentences. “Don’t want you mad at me.”

 

“No, I’m not mad you drank.”

 

“Good.” She shivered slightly as they left the building. “Wait. Are you mad?”

 

“At you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He thought about it. “A little.”

 

“Oh.” She shrunk in on herself as he approached his car, and he squeezed her leg.

 

“I’m going to need to you down so that you can get in the car.”

 

She clutched onto him before she unwound her arms from him. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s all right.” Damn, Thundercracker was right. She _was_ upset. “Look, if you need to throw up, tell me and I’ll pull over, okay?”

 

She nodded, curling up in the seat.

 

He got in on his side and turned the engine over. As he pulled away from the curb, he glanced over at her before turning the heat up. He felt all right, but she was shivering. “You want to tell me why you were drinking so much?”

 

“Didn’t want to feel things.”

 

“What kind of things?”

 

“Swirliness.” The word made her turn green, and he immediately pulled over. She pushed open the door, and he cringed when he heard the telltale sounds of purging. Still, she held the door open far enough that there shouldn’t be any...splashing.

 

She closed the door with a shaking hand and he handed her a tissue. She wiped her mouth and leaned back. He decided not to question any more while she still had a tinge of green to her skin, and Chromia’s car wasn’t in the carport by the time he got to her house. “Where are your roommates?” he asked as he turned the engine off.

 

“Out,” she mumbled.

 

“Right.” He went over to her side of the car and opened the door. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he lifted her up. “You don’t want to walk?”

 

“No.”

 

Her keys were attached to her belt, and he grasped them to unlock the door. He propped the screen door against his shoulder as he fumbled with the lock, but finally it opened and he led her inside. “Bathroom?”

 

She nodded. “Please.”

 

He set her down in that tiny cube she called a bathroom, and she immediately wound herself around the toilet and started to throw up. He turned to walk out, give her some privacy, but she snagged his pant leg. “You don’t want me to go?” he knelt to rest on his haunches, and she shook her head. “You don’t need me to pull your hair back, it’s French-braided.”

 

She just managed to roll her eyes at him, and he grinned briefly. He sat down against the door and she let go of his pant leg to hold onto the toilet bowl. He remembered there were things you were supposed to do, like hold back someone’s hair or rub their back, and he leaned forward slightly to place a hand between her shoulder blades.

 

She reached a shaking hand for the toilet lid, and she closed it before she flushed it. “I h-hate throwing up.”

 

“It’s all right.”

 

She rested her cheek against the toilet lid, and he was dismayed to see tears in her eyes. “I’ve been fe-ee-eling things,” she hiccupped, and he reached up to turn on the ventilation. She pitched her voice to speak over the fan. “You sc-scare me. But I _miss_ you.”

 

He froze. “Why do I scare you?”

 

Her face twisted in pain. “Because—because--,” her face turned grey, and she lifted up the toilet lid again.

 

Impatience stabbed at him, but he had to wait. He watched for a moment, and then he rose up. She looked at him, but he shook his head. “I’ll be back.”

 

Her shoulders slumped.

 

In the kitchen, he found soda water, which wasn’t what he was expecting but he would take it. He filled a glass with it and brought it to her, and he winced when he got to the bathroom. Dear god, the _smell_.

 

“Are you done?” he asked brusquely.

 

“Y-yes.” She pushed herself to her feet and went over to the sink, where she started to brush her teeth.

 

“Windblade, why do I scare you?”

 

Her eyes began to mist over again. “Because you could ruin ev- _everything_.”

 

“I— _what?_ ”

 

They heard a car door slam outside, and he pushed the glass of water in her hands. “Go to bed.”

 

“But--.”

 

“Windblade? Starscream?” Chromia turned from the entryway to the hall, and her eyes softened at Windblade’s clear distress. “Windblade, did you drink too much?”

 

“Yes,” Windblade said miserably.

 

“Oh sweetie.” Chromia tugged on Windblade. “I’ve got this, you can go.”

 

“Fine by me,” Starscream said haughtily. He pushed past them, over Windblade’s, “Wait, please,” and was pushing open the screen door when he came face-to-face with Nautica.

 

She raised her eyebrows. “Sup, Screamer.”

 

“ _Ugh_.”

 

“Hey, hey, wait. Why are you here?”

 

“When Thundercracker couldn’t reach either of you, he called _me_.”

 

“Oh. Sorry about that. We were in a movie, we turned our phones off.”

 

He frowned at her before sinking onto the porch step. “If I go home now, I’ll punch my roommates and I don’t actually want to do that.”

 

“Let me put this in the fridge and I’ll come join you. Chromia’s got Windblade, but from what it looks like you got her through the worst of it.”

 

“I do believe the puking is over.”

 

“Oh good.” The heartbeats it took Nautica to come back seemed like a lifetime, but she came back and she sat down next to him. “So you look like shit.”

 

“Haven’t slept much.”

 

“Sounds familiar.” She peered at him. “So you gonna tell me why you’re so upset?”

 

“You’re not going to ask me about why Windblade’s upset?” he asked dryly.

 

“Oh, I have some thoughts about that but she’s not ready to tell me.” Nautica rested her elbows on her knees and looked at him. “What’s been keeping you from sleeping?”

 

“Work. Skyfire’s not great at writing.”

 

“And you are—yep, I know this song. But that’s not why you’re upset.”

 

“Can we not?” he complained.

 

“Nope,” she said cheerfully. “You’re sitting on my porch to kill time.”

 

“ _Ugh_.”

 

“You’ll have to trademark that soon if you keep saying it.”

 

He choked and glared at her. She smiled back guilelessly. “She’s scared of me,” he said abruptly. “She said I could ruin everything.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“You don’t exactly sound surprised.”

 

“That, we _have_ talked about. Kinda. Her anxiety is worse than I thought.”

 

“Care to share?” He blinked his eyelashes at her, and she laughed.

 

“Nah, I won’t share a confidence. You know her, you know how long it takes her to trust anybody. What happened between you two a few weeks ago?”

 

“She didn’t tell you?”

 

“Contrary to popular belief, she doesn’t actually tell me everything that upsets her, and that upset her a _lot_.”

 

He shifted, and she tacked on, “She feels guilty, angry, and despondent. Whatever you two fought about, _she feels bad_. Let her out of the doghouse already, god.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Damn right, _oh_.” She leaned back on her hands. “So. Now what do we talk about?”

 

“Your tragic backstory?” he deadpanned.

 

“Oh, my backstory’s not all that tragic. My parents are liberal and gave me chemistry sets and Kinex for my birthday. I was on every science and math team the school had, and I won a few trophies. I had these really big glasses in high school, like, Trelawney-esque frames, but they were just for show. Oh, and they were bright purple.”

 

He snorted. “I can actually see you in those. God.”

 

“I know, right? I was so pretentious. No idea how Windblade and Firestar put up with me.”

 

“How did you meet and become the Merry Musketeers?” he asked finally.

 

“Well, for all that Windy downplays it, the Church of Solus is _the_ center of Camien culture. I was avoiding my girlfriend in the sanctuary, and I stumbled over Windy— _literally,_ she had bruises down her back for a week—she was studying some of the thealogy in between the pews. She was hiding from _her_ mom, who was on a tear because who the hell knows. She knew me from school, and everyone knows the Mistress of Flame’s kid, so I sat next to her and we just...talked. Next morning, we were best friends.” Nautica reflected on that. “Damn. We’ve been best friends for six years. Wow. I should get her flowers.”

 

“And you two decided to room together...?”

 

“We both got in here, and we’d heard the horror stories by that point. We’d stayed at each other’s houses for several days each, so we were pretty sure we could be roommates, and guess what, we could. We were both super lonely that first semester, and then I got involved in the Engineering department and she started attending the linguistics mixers and before long, we had a social circle. I reconnected with Chromia—she’s from home, too, but her parents moved away three years before she graduated high school, so we’d been friendly but we had a new reason to talk—and well, the rest is history.”

 

“I knew Thundercracker from my second boarding school,” Starscream grumbled. “He’d roomed down the hall from me, and we shared a few classes. We were the best in our science classes, so we’d share those long-suffering looks when some idiot couldn’t grasp the basics of thermonuclear mechanics.”

 

“Indeed,” Nautica agreed, her face straight. “I just hate it when some non-science major can’t grasp the basics of thermonuclear mechanics.”

 

“Stop it. Then my parents died, and Megatron pulled me out of boarding school. Rushed me through the end of high school, I took a year off to just—shoot the breeze and do science. By the time I entered college, I was a year ahead, and but by the next year and luck of the draw, Thundercracker and Skywarp were my roommates.”

 

“And you chose to stay with them.”

 

“I get how they work, and we have several important but unstated rules that others are incapable of parsing. What’s the point in having to break in new roommates?” he glanced at his phone and nodded to himself. The party would be winding down and he no longer felt the urge to punch either Thundercracker or Skywarp. “Speaking of, I should probably head home.”

 

She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for bringing her home. I mean that. Windy’s kind of a sloppy drunk, honestly. I think it’s because she’s so repressed in everything else.”

 

“It was the decent thing to do,” he grumped. “Thundercracker could’ve called a cab.”

 

“Yeah, except a cabbie wouldn’t have made sure she got to the bathroom. So seriously, thanks. And whatever else you two are working through?” she waited until he looked at her. “There’s hope there. She just hasn’t settled on how she feels yet.”

 

“That...” He pushed himself upright. “Doesn’t actually help me right now.”

 

“She takes a year and a day to come to a conclusion, but trust me, you’ll be the first to know when she does.”

 

His lips quirked slightly. “Hey Nautica?”

 

“Mm?”

 

“Thanks.”

 

She smiled at him. “No big.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mistress of Flame, Destroyer of Worlds. (whoops)
> 
> Depending on how my schedule goes next week, I might post the next chapter on Thanksgiving. It honestly depends on how tired I am. If not, a very happy Thanksgiving to all of my American readers, and I wish everyone else a good week despite the American obsession with turkey.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Turkey Day, if you celebrate it. If you don't, I hope you have a good day also. Let's hope yours is less dramatic than Starscream and Windblade's was, but I _do_ approve of watching the Puppy Bowl.
> 
> As always, thanks to everyone who's commented! That's what I'm grateful for this year.
> 
> We're getting there, and I sincerely hope you all enjoy this.

**PART EIGHT**

**_Then:_ **

****

**_April:_ **

 

Windblade shifted from foot to foot in Professor Magnus’ office. She was dropping off something from Optimus, but he’d said, “Stay a minute?” and she had.

 

“I was disappointed in your most recent presentation,” Professor Magnus wasn’t gentle, but his voice was soft and almost kind. “I’d come to expect a certain quality to yours and Starscream’s work, and the last presentation did not meet that expectation.”

 

She swallowed. “The few weeks leading to the presentation, Starscream was in the process of writing up his presentation for the National Conference on Astrophysics, and I was having an extended allergic reaction to pollen. I know it’s not an excuse, sir, but between my health issues and Starscream’s preoccupation, our presentation was given less attention than usual.”

 

“And you two haven’t fought or anything.”

 

“N-no, sir.”

 

“You two usually exchange notes and asides during my lectures, and he’s barely looked at you over the last three weeks, so you can understand my concern.” He folded his hands together and Windblade belatedly remembered his pre-university career of being a criminal prosecutor. _Fuck_.

 

“He’s been very preoccupied,” she said faintly. “However, the conference was this past weekend, so Starscream should have his full attention back.”

 

“I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, Windblade. I’m just concerned.”

 

“Oh, no sir, I know.” She clenched her hands in the folds of her skirt. “I understand where you’re coming from.”

 

“Good.” He regarded her. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

“All right.” He put his reading glasses back on. “But you _can_ if you feel the need.”

 

“Thank you, sir.” She turned on her heel to leave, and once she was out of his office, she fled into the general supply closet and slid down the door to force herself to breathe. She didn’t remember much of Thundercracker’s party from the week before, only the first two shots with Skywarp. She had flashes of what happened after—she remembered Starscream taking her home—but she had no concrete details.

 

When she’d woken up on Sunday morning, Nautica had been fixing brunch, and she had just looked at her. They hadn’t spoken about it, but there was a weight to Nautica’s gaze that hadn’t been there before.

 

It was only a matter of time before she broke down and spilled the entire story to her, but the sickening knots in her stomach hadn’t left yet, only taken root. She couldn’t prod them without her breath coming shorter in her chest.

 

She couldn’t even sleep well. She kept having fragments of nightmares that snapped her awake at 2, 5 in the morning, but she could never remember the details. The shadows underneath her eyes deepened, and her fingers shook. She couldn’t remember feeling like this before—Nautica thought it was anxiety but that was too neat an explanation, and anxiety didn’t explain the nausea whenever she prodded the knots in her stomach.

 

Stress was more likely. She clung to the end of a semester like a lifeline—she had three weeks to go until final projects and exams were done, and then she could sleep. It had to be school-related; she wasn’t sure how to handle it if it wasn’t.

 

She ignored how her stomach knotted even more whenever she thought of Starscream. He was still ignoring her, but the edge of hostility that had marked it for the first two weeks had disappeared. Sometimes, she thought he was watching her from the corners of his eyes, measuring her behavior. He was a scientist, but his math was written in the stars. She didn’t know what he was studying on her.

 

She blew her hair out of her face. She was always at her most philosophical in the aftermath of an anxiety attack.

 

She returned to Optimus’ office, and he smiled at her. “I know you just got back, but can you grade these? The Scantron machine in the International Relations office is broken, but it’s working in Political Science.”

 

“Anything else?”

 

He hummed. “Not that I can currently think of.”

 

“I’ll be back.”

 

As she waited for the Scantron machine to finish, she wondered how to fix things with Starscream and ignored how her stomach hurt. She kept waiting for him to say something during class or their terse emails— _the definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over again and waiting for different results_ —but it wasn’t working.

 

Maybe a gesture of some kind? He liked gestures. She knew where his lab was—not that she’d ever been invited, but that was his and Skyfire’s space and she could respect that—and he’d be getting out of one of his astrophysics classes in about an hour, so he would probably head over there. She could bring food, maybe? He wouldn’t want to talk while his mind was on astrophysics, but it was a gesture.

 

She’d wrap up with Optimus for the day in that timeframe, and she could get sandwiches. She knew what Starscream liked, anyway. Ham with turkey, avocado, and mayonnaise, and with just the lightest sprinkling of oregano. He complained if there was too much oregano or no oregano at all, and she would tease him about being a persnickety asshole.

 

Mind made up, she almost skipped back to Optimus’ office. That, she could handle.

 

Nautica’s lab was two floors below Starscream’s, so after she dropped the sandwiches off she could go hang out in Nautica’s lab until Nautica was done for the day. The plan worked.

 

In theory.

 

In actuality, Skyfire met her at the door, and one glance took in her skirt, shirt, and sandwich bag, and he sniffed.

 

Her hackles went up. “Is Starscream here?” she said politely.

 

“He’s not.”

 

“Well, I brought you and Starscream sandwiches, so,” she gave them to him with a saccharine smile. He took them, but his mouth twisted into a frown.

 

“Windblade, I don’t know what the hell you did, but--.”

 

Oh screw _that_. “Look, I understand where you’re coming from, but you don’t really have the right to criticize me here.”

 

“ _Excuse_ me?”

 

Nervousness made her stomach hurt, but she braced her shoulders. “I made a mistake, and I’m owning that. But you were the center of his universe for _two years_. And if you didn’t see that, then--,” oh Solus she was going to kill him, “you’re not as good a scientist as you think you are.”

 

His jaw dropped, and she turned on her heel to leave. Her stomach twisted, but something unwound. Her shoulders relaxed two degrees, and her heartbeat calmed down.

 

She felt like shit for it, but she felt _good_ about that. Skyfire was a good man, a gentle man, but he had no right to take her to task for something she had been flagellating herself over for actual weeks.

 

There is a difference, she realized, between owning a mistake and letting it rule you. She could forgive herself. She had punished herself enough.

 

Nautica beamed at her. “Hey, girl.”

 

“Hey, yourself.” Windblade tried on a smile, and it didn’t feel fake. “You alone?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Windblade let herself in. “I think it’s time I told you what happened.”

 

Nautica nodded slowly and closed the door. “I think so too.”

 

\--

 

Starscream’s phone went off, and he propped it between his head and shoulder. “What?” he demanded, frowning at his first draft of Magnus’ final paper.

 

“Two _years_ , Starscream?!”

 

“What are we talking about?” Starscream saved the document and put the laptop on the bed instead of his lap.

 

“You were in love for me for _two years?!”_

 

“Oh. That.”

 

“Yes, _that_ ,” Skyfire snarled.

 

Starscream sighed and brought his laptop back onto his lap. “Do we really need to talk about this? I have a paper to write.”

 

“I think that lack of talking is a problem.”

 

“We’ve been all right.”

 

“No, we haven’t. You used me as a way to keep for falling for people—god, how did I not realize what that meant?”

 

“Because you didn’t want to.” Starscream stopped typing as he tried to think of the right Latin term. “What spurred this particular epiphany, anyway? I am actually trying to write a paper.”

 

“You should be more upset.”

 

“Skyfire, I am over you. I’m just surprised it took me so long in hindsight. Seriously, what spurred it? Out of sick curiosity.”

 

“Windblade.”

 

Starscream stopped. “... _what?_ ” he meant it to come out strong and hard, but it was a whisper, and he hated himself for the weakness.

 

“She came by today with sandwiches for us. You were busy with your other work, but I--.”

 

“You were trying to defend me by attacking her, and she hit you back where you weren’t expecting it.” Starscream grinned to himself. “She’s a hell of a woman.”

 

“Wh-what?”

 

“She could be a hell of a politician. Genuinely. I can appreciate that you wanted to defend me—really, I do appreciate it—but my fight is with _her_. You don’t have to fight that battle for me.”

 

“I wanted to be your _friend._ ”

 

God, they were really going to fight about that. “And you are. But friends also recognize boundaries. When it’s open season on Windblade, I will _tell_ you. Do we really have to fight about this? This paper isn’t going to write itself.”

 

“Starscream...I feel--.”

 

“I don’t care.” Starscream leaned against the wall. “You were never in love with me, and we would never have fitted. I don’t like the boyfriend, but you don’t have to curb his edges, not the way you did for me.” He shrugged. “So sorry Skyfire, but I don’t care about how you feel guilty because you never saw something you didn’t want to see in the first place. There’s no reason to feel guilty. It’s over. Can we still work together?”

 

He heard Skyfire sigh raggedly. “Yeah. We can.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Before I let you go to write that damn paper, will you come over for dinner with Percy and me? I know you don’t like him, but for the sake of our friendship, could you just—pretend?”

 

Starscream exhaled carefully and silently. “Yeah. I can do that.”

 

He could hear Skyfire’s smile. “Good.”

 

“Now get off my phone line.”

 

“Yes dear.”

 

He tapped his chin as he thought quickly, and then he fired off a quick IM to Windblade.

 

**U working w/ prime 2morrow?**

 

She replied back just as quickly. _Yes, 2 to 5 like every Friday. Why?_

 

**I need magnus to look over a thing and i don’t wanna get in ur way.**

 

_Oh, um, okay. Are you.._

 

**Fine.**

 

_...okay. night._

 

He checked the time and—yep, Megatron would still be awake. He found Megatron’s number in his phone and tapped his fingers against his thigh impatiently until Megatron growled, “ _What_ ” into the phone speaker.

 

“I need you to steal Optimus’ staples tomorrow, say, around 3.”

 

“...why.”

 

“I need a confluence of circumstance.”

 

There was a beat. “Fine. But I want the full story.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get it. Night.”

 

“Good night.”

 

\--

 

Megatron ambled into Optimus’ office. “Preparing for the weekly test of your Intro students?”

 

Optimus didn’t look up from the essay he was grading. “In the process. Windblade is making copies and then she’ll staple all of them together with the electronic stapler.”

 

“Why not use a real stapler?”

 

“Each test is five pages, front and back, and I need 100 tests. Her hand would start to hurt after a while. Unfortunately, the electronic stapler in this office is broken. _Again_. We’re going to need to keep an engineering student on retainer for how often things break.”

 

“So have her use the electronic stapler in the poli-sci office.”

 

“I was going to.” Optimus looked at Megatron over the rims of his reading glasses. “Is there a point to this rather pointed conversation?”

 

“Nah. Just wanted to know if we’d have a chance to be alone. Your TA is lovely but I’m sure there are some things she just doesn’t want to see.”

 

Optimus pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Oh.”

 

Megatron smirked as the door to the International Relations office opened, and Optimus called, “Use the electronic stapler in the Political Science office, please!”

 

“Yes sir,” Windblade answered, and the door closed.

 

Megatron ambled further inside Optimus’ office and closed the door behind him.

 

Windblade shifted the reams of paper in her arms. Paper was far heavier than it had a right to be, and her arms were starting to ache. At least the Poli-Sci department was only a few floors away by elevator.

 

She smiled at the TA staffing the front desk—he was one of Megatron’s crew of TAs, nicknamed the ‘Justice Division’ because they came down so hard whenever one of Megatron’s students broke the Student Code. There were horror stories, but she tried not to think about them whenever she walked by one of them. “Hi Kaon.”

 

“Hi Windblade. Something broken in the International Relations office again?”

 

“Yep, this time it’s the electronic stapler. I’d almost think it was a conspiracy, except I’m not sure who benefits.”

 

“Someone doesn’t always need to benefit,” he said sagely. “Sometimes they just need to fuck with you.”

 

“That doesn’t exactly make me feel better,” she said with a giggle. “Anyway, I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”

 

“Take your time.”

 

She put down the reams of paper on the table in the middle of the common area with a sigh. First she would need to put all the tests together, and _then_ she could start stapling them. Normally she would hum while working, but Kaon’s heightened senses due to his blindness made him uncomfortable with that kind of noise.

 

Her mind blanked while she pulled the tests together, only snapping out of it at the odd paper cut. Pulling Optimus’ tests together always made her hands look like she’d gotten into a fight with a velociraptor.

 

She was pressing a tissue to a particularly large cut at the base of her thumb when she realized the voice at the edge of her awareness was Starscream’s, and that he was talking to Professor Magnus.

 

Not only was he talking to Professor Magnus, he was talking about— _splitting up their partnership?_ He’d said her name, _that_ was why it caught her attention. She glared at the slightly open door and pressed the cut at her thumb just a little harder. They had one more presentation before the end of the semester. He couldn’t pull it together for one more presentation?!

 

She pulled papers together with more frustration as Magnus began to chide Starscream for his lateness in bringing up the issue. Starscream’s voice rose, and she shoved the tests in order. She was almost done with the piles of paper, she would need to staple them soon. She started to fantasize about stapling Starscream’s fingers as Starscream argued with Magnus.

 

She’d managed to staple through most of the tests when Starscream left Magnus’ office, and he stared at her. She put down the tests and stalked toward him, and he raised his eyebrows up until she wrapped a hand around his wrist and dragged him to the supply closet. “Windblade--.”

 

“Shut up, I’m talking.” She closed and locked the door, propping her hands on her hips. “Are you serious? You can’t pull your issues together for _one more presentation?_ ”

 

He crossed his arms across his chest. “Right, because we’ve been doing so well up to that point.”

 

She poked him in the chest. “And _whose_ fault is that?”

 

“Well, yours, actually--.”

 

“Oh _please_. I’ve made my attempts to bridge the gap between us, but fixing a problem takes _two_ people, Starscream!”

 

“Quiet,” he ordered. “That door isn’t that thick.”

 

“Stop! Just stop. I am _sorry_. We suffered a breakdown in communication, and I was never given the chance to explain what happened.”

 

“I gave you _plenty_ of chances.”

 

“Right, because baring my soul to a hostile audience is the easiest thing in the world.”

 

“And _then_ ,” he talked over her, “you told me that you were _scared_ of me!” He windmilled his arms. “I’ve never done anything to hurt you! Well, not after I knew you!”

 

“You don’t have to do _anything_!” She threw her arms up. “You scare me more with what you could _do_!”

 

“Do _what,_ damnit?!” He stepped closer to her, and she reached up to grab his lapels. She needed him at arm’s length.

 

“I have fought and sacrificed and _bled_ to be where I am. You can’t even imagine the depth of the sacrifice I’ve made to be here, and you could—you could--,” the words dried up in her throat, and he wrapped his hands around her wrists. His hands were so much bigger, and she quailed slightly.

 

“Could do _what?_ ”

 

The door opened, and she flinched away from him. His hands tightened around her wrists, and they both looked into the sudden shaft of light to where Optimus was standing.

 

Windblade squeaked, her cheeks flaming, and Starscream cleared his throat.

 

“I needed staples,” Optimus said at last.

 

Windblade tugged one wrist out of Starscream’s hold and found a box of staples. She passed it to him, her blush deepening. He took it, and his eyes were measuring. “I’ll leave you two to your assignation.”

 

“Optimus--,” her voice stuttered and screeched over the syllables of his name, but he shook his head and closed the door.

 

Starscream let her go, and she buried her face in her hands. “I can _not_ believe that just happened,” she moaned, rocking back and forth.

 

Then his hands were on her arms and he was making her look at him. “Windblade. What could I do?”

 

Oh Solus. She wasn’t prepared for that. “You could ask me to make a choice, and I wouldn’t choose me,” she whispered. She couldn’t meet his eyes. Shame was rising up in her chest and she blinked rapidly. “I—miscommunicated to you before. Badly. You felt I was rejecting you, when in fact I was questioning myself.”

 

His hands flexed around her arms, and she remembered, almost unwillingly, how he had kissed her in her kitchen. She hadn’t been prepared for how her stomach had clenched and how she had felt a pure bolt of pleasure arc down her spine.

 

She’d kissed him back for a few moments, then reality had set back in and she had pushed him away. She gasped out, “ _What_ was _that?_ ” but he hadn’t given her the chance to explain. He had just...left, and she had beaten herself black and blue for not stopping him.

 

“Windblade. _Windblade._ Look at me.” She forced herself to look up and meet his eyes, and she couldn’t figure out what he was showing her. “You need to tell me what’s going on. Please.”

 

Her stomach was knotting again, and she hadn’t interrogated herself enough on what that meant, let alone explaining it to someone else. But there was an easier method, it just took a little more courage.

 

She breathed in deeply and reached out for his lapels again. He let her, his brow furrowing with confusion, and she stood on her tiptoes and drew him to press her lips to his. It needed to be a good kiss, something that would leave him dazed and give her time to exit, but it also needed to be gentle. She wasn’t angry at him, she was _sorry_ and aching with it, and he needed to know that.

 

She drew his top lip into her mouth and sucked on it softly. His hand tightened on her arm, and she let it go, just to press a little further into his mouth. She scraped the tip of her teeth against his bottom lip, and he inhaled sharply. His hands moved from her arms to her waist, and he pulled her up and against him. She yelped slightly when her feet left the ground, and he chuckled into the kiss, and he tried to take control of it.

 

She hummed negatively, nipping his bottom lip. Oh no, he was _not_.

 

She was rewarded by another sharp inhale—so he liked it a little rough? She could work with that. She dug her teeth in a little bit deeper, and his hand unwound her shirt from her skirt waistline before he rested his hand against her bare back. She arched against his hand, her skin sparking when his skin touched hers.

 

She needed to refocus. She was trying to say sorry and distract him all at the same time. She pulled back to breathe, and his eyes were darkening as he tracked her mouth. “Wind--.”

 

She rested a finger over his lips. “Not now,” her voice was husky, and she swallowed. “Later.”

 

“Okay.”

 

She removed her finger to kiss him again, and this time she brought her tongue into it. He made a low noise in the back of his throat and let her, and by the time she pulled away, _she_ was dazed.

 

He looked worse than she did, blinking blearily at her as she found her feet again. She tucked her shirt into her waistband and smiled shyly at him before leaving the closet and closing the door.

 

She exhaled raggedly. Thank _Solus_ for lipstains.

 

\--

 

It was a stormy night—no, no, not a stormy night. The rain had just passed, leaving water all over roads and making the streetlights refract luminescence through a watery veil. A woman in a blood-red coat and black hat furtively checked the street before disappearing behind the door and—

 

“What the _hell_ are you doing?”

 

Starscream sneered at Thundercracker. “Imagining me and Windblade in a noir setting.”

 

“You couldn’t be a detective, you don’t have the patience.”

 

“Shut _up_ , Thundercracker.” He leaned back in his chair with a grin. “You can’t kill this for me.”

 

“Why _are_ you in such a good mood?” Thundercracker leaned against the wall. “I’ve never seen you try to put yourself in a film genre.”

 

“Because she distracted me.” Starscream swung his legs onto the desk. “And she did it _well_.”

 

“Do I want to know how?”

 

“She kissed me.” He tucked his hands behind his head. “She’s more manipulative than I gave her credit for. _And_ she took some sensitive information about me and used it to hurt Skyfire when he was trying to hurt her. God. What a woman.”

 

“I know that look. That’s the look of you manipulating variables in your head until you find an outcome you like.”

 

“Is that a problem? I like manipulating variables.”

 

“Yeah, but you’re not ready to say what your final outcome yet.”

 

“Oh, definitely not.” Starscream smirked at him. “She’s going to be here soon, so if you and Skywarp could leave us alone, that would be just _peachy_.”

 

Thundercracker eyed him suspiciously. “Are you planning to fuck her?”

 

“I wouldn’t exactly define it as ‘fucking.’”

 

“Oh. _Oh_.”

 

“Yep.”

 

“I will leave with all due haste.”

 

Starscream’s smirk broadened. “Thanks.”

 

Thundercracker and Skywarp had barely been gone for ten minutes when there was a quiet knock on the door. He opened the door to find Windblade standing there in her usual skirt and blouse, but her skirt was claret and her shirt was white. She’d never worn that color combination around him before, and he wondered—hoped—that it was significant. “Hi,” she said.

 

“Hi.”

 

Tension returned between the two of them, but for the first time in nearly four weeks, it wasn’t angry or hostile. Her shirt draped like silk, something smart in the rising temperatures outside but he wanted to believe that wasn’t the _only_ reason. “Come in?” He stepped to the side and she entered, and she turned to keep her eyes on him as he closed the door.

 

When he reached for her, she neatly sidestepped him and held up her bag. “We have a lot of work to make up for,” her voice was severe but her eyes were twinkling. “I don’t want to have a conversation like that with Magnus again.”

 

He sighed dramatically, but when she moved in the direction of his room instead of the desks, he perked up. So _that_ was the game, apparently. Work hard and then play equally hard? He could do that.

 

By the time he caught up, she was sitting on his bed with her laptop in her lap and notes off to the side. He picked up his own laptop from the bookshelf, where it had been charging, and plopped down next to her. “So, where are we?”

 

“Defining intellectual property and how it relates to imperialism,” she said, already absorbed in the task.

 

He sighed. He had plans, damnit. “Imperialism is not sexy.”

 

“I should hope not.” She looked over at him. “If you did, I would be _very_ concerned.”

 

“Don’t be so literal,” he complained.

 

“You love it,” she tapped her lip with her pen and refocused on her work. “Okay, so I found this one case. It’s an ICC case, which falls under Magnus’ parameters...”

 

Starscream put aside his annoyed feelings. She _did_ have a point. While he wasn’t as impacted by Magnus’ disappointment as she clearly was, the fact that he knew he could have done better and that someone else saw that and judged him for it...stung. It meant he hadn’t worked hard enough to hide it.

 

They spent the next hour and a half arguing over the case and its’ details, and he’d forgotten how intent she could look when she was trying to prove him wrong.

 

It was really hot, actually. She was entirely wrong, but...it was hot.

 

She closed her laptop at last and scrubbed at her eyes. No eyeliner, but lipstick. “I’m so glad that’s the last presentation,” she mumbled. “I really _don’t_ want to go to law school.”

 

“Why not? You make good arguments, even when they’re founded in false assumptions.”

 

She shoved him with one hand. “Thanks for the compliment, I think. And no. Being a lawyer isn’t just about making good arguments. It’s being charismatic and talking people into seeing your point, and it’s long days of research and heart disease by forty. No, thanks. I’ll stick with the State department.”

 

“I think I’m gonna get a law degree,” he reflected. “I’m going to apply to Georgetown in the fall. It’s a train ride from my hometown.”

 

“Hm,” she wasn’t really listening. “For politics?”

 

“Yeah. It helps to have the law background.”

 

She patted his leg as she got up to put her notes back in her bag. Her skirt was long and flared; it didn’t cling to the lines of her body as well as he’d like when she bent over. “So you’ll have a science _and_ a law background. You’ll terrify every Republican who refuses to believe in climate change.”

 

“My fondest dream.”

 

She rolled her eyes at him as she perched on the end of his bed. “Seriously, what _are_ you going to do with your science degree? Unless you want to go into the judiciary...”

 

“Oh, _hell_ no.” He reached out for her and tugged her a little closer. She didn’t resist. Much. “I want to make law, not try it.”

 

“But your science background could help so much when it comes time to try scientists for breaching ethics,” she demurred. The corner of her mouth was twitching slightly. “Quis custodiet ipsos custodies, eh?”

 

“Your Latin accent is _terrible_.”

 

“Like a dead language’s accent can be accurately measured,” she sniffed. “But the point still stands.”

 

“No, the only one who should watch scientists are fellow scientists.” It was a familiar argument, and his heart lifted slightly. “Lawmakers don’t fully understand how ethics work in the science community.”

 

“But what happens when there’s a severe breach of ethics? Then what happens?” her eyes gleamed. “Scientists don’t have the same legal clout the way judges do.”

 

“Your work can get blackballed.”

 

“Oh, boo-hoo, your work can get blackballed. If you’ve hurt people, you need to see prison time.”

 

“If your work gets blackballed, your work is literally mud.”

 

“Think about the dude who published that paper about how vaccines lead to autism. He got his license pulled, but look at the people who’ve gotten sick or died because there were assholes who believed him. Law is better than the scientific community there, wouldn’t you agree?”

 

“Except he couldn’t have known--.”

 

“So the charge should be voluntary manslaughter instead of murder.” She lifted her chin and set her mouth. “Scientists can cause a _lot_ of harm before the science community can catch up.”

 

“It takes time for the law to catch up too,” he pointed out. “If you’re saying that law is a better vehicle to stop bad things from snowballing, you’re wrong. Law doesn’t really _stop_ bad things; it just punishes those who do the bad things.”

 

“Well, it does kind of _stop_ bad things...” she flipped her braid over her shoulder. “But you’re kind of acting like scientists are above the law.”

 

“Oh please.” The derision in his voice caused her hackles to rise. “Scientists are likely the first to see that there’s a breach of ethics. There should be a certain grace period, and the scientists who report it should get leeway.”

 

“But if it’s a certain kind of culture,” her voice curdled with hostility, but she was enjoying the argument. He knew that, because _he_ was. “Then where’s the reporting? And you know that culture exists, don’t try and tell me it doesn’t!”

 

“Still, breaches in ethics can’t always be perfectly articulated in legalese or current laws! That’s why it has to be investigated by scientists first!”

 

“They’re not the end-all be-all! They’re not objective enough!”

 

“The _law_ isn’t objective enough!” His voice was rising, but she didn’t look cowed. Guess that stopped working.

 

“You sanctimonious excuse for a scientist, _no one_ is above the law!”

 

“Oh please, we all know that if you can prove your work has merit issues just—poof!” Damnit, he was distracted by her lipstick again. That red lipstick was going to be the death of him. Again.

 

“You mean if there’s _privilege_ in the mix, right, of _course_ things would go poof,” she said poisonously, her blue eyes spitting fire up at him.

 

“Well, how _else_ ,” she got up to open the door in response to him, and he followed after to shut it instead. She eyed him as he rested his hand next to her head on the door. So much for his _plans_.

 

“Science has to give way to justice, just like _everything else_.”

 

“How do you define justice?” he demanded. She set her jaw and planted her hands on her hips, which naturally drew his eyes to the curve of her torso, from her breasts to her waist and back to her hips. “Justice isn’t purely objective, because _people_ do it.”

 

“Thus the reason why science is never pure!” If she threw up her hands like she clearly wanted to, she would hit him in the face. “And you’re right--.”

 

“Can I _please_ get that in writing?”

 

“You’re right,” she plowed on, ignoring his aside, “in that justice is never purely objective, but you might notice that judges are in fact capable of putting aside their personal feelings to hand down decisions, for good or for ill.” Her eyes were not meeting his, but they were—goddamn, was she watching his lips too? “Can you say the same thing about science? When picking a scientific field is incredibly personal?”

 

“You can’t take the bad examples of science gone wrong and use it to tar the entire discipline.”

 

“I _wasn’t_. I said that when scientists screw up, they should face legal ramifications!”

 

“And when judges screw up? It takes longer to catch them.”

 

“You are so _impossible_ ,” she exploded, pushing at his chest in an attempt to get him to back off. He stayed still, and her anger reached thermonuclear levels. “How can you argue against the judicial process?”

 

“When that judicial process is founded on principles that don’t even approach justice, merely what is convenient,” he growled. He leaned in just a little, but remembered himself just in time.

 

She scowled at him, and _ugh_ , that _lipstick_. “Science has a long history of being used to justify societal and structural inequality,” she growled right back. “As does the judicial process. That doesn’t mean the judicial process doesn’t have inherent worth, and I was never, _ever_ arguing against science as a discipline!”

 

Who kissed whom next he didn’t quite know, but her lips were suddenly against his and his hand was tangled in her hair at the nape of her neck. Her arms were around his neck, and she was leaning upward, her body plastered against his. He’d fantasized about how her breasts would feel against him when she wasn’t wearing a coat, and he felt a little faint at the reality. Either that or they weren’t kissing properly and he needed air.

 

...Probably the second one.

 

He pulled her away from him to run his lips over her neck, and he felt her pulse jump against the sensitive skin of his lips. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and he pressed his lips harder under her ear. She whimpered, and satisfaction made him harder than he should be.

 

One of his hands snuck up to round the curve of her breast, and she jumped when he squeezed. He had to laugh, and she eyed him. “You’re jumpy,” he mumbled, scraping his teeth against the shell of her ear. Whatever she said disappeared into her moan, her back arching and pushing her chest against his further. “I like that in a girl.”

 

“I’d like more kissing,” she said pointedly. “So I _don’t have to listen to you_.”

 

“That almost sounds like a challenge.”

 

“Shut _up_ , Starscream.” She dragged his head over—wow, she was strong—and leaned up the rest of the distance to press her lips against his. It was gentler than what he’d expected, and he responded in kind by sucking carefully on her lower lip. It was like the kiss in the supply closet, and belatedly he remembered how she had used it to disarm him. He needed to take control again, and he bit her bottom lip.

 

She dragged her nails up his neck, and he moaned unexpectedly. “ _Keep doing that_.”

 

“Say please and I might,” she laughed, and he sucked a little harder on her lower lip before releasing it. She gasped slightly, and it was his turn to chuckle at her. Frustration did _wonders_.

 

“How about _you_ say please?”

 

“Get some original lines.”

 

“Are you _really_ complaining?” He could feel her nipple through her bra, and he tweaked it. She jumped again, but she still had the voice to be snarky.

 

“All t-talk.”

 

“Yeah, no, not talking.” He picked her up easily—try _his_ strength on for size—and pushed her up against the wall. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he went for her neck, and she muffled her moan into her hand as he laved over her pulse.

 

“Hurry _up_ ,” she groaned, reaching a hand down to his pants buckle. She rubbed the heel of her hand against his dick, and his hips bucked into the touch.

 

She clawed his back as he pushed her harder against the wall. “Didn’t think about how strong your legs would be,” he gasped against her neck, lifting one of them higher to bunch her skirt at her waist. Once he was satisfied with the angle, he fumbled with his pants until his dick was free.

 

“Better have a condom,” she panted, arching her neck as he bit at the junction of her neck and shoulder.

 

“I _always_ have a condom.” He reached down for the condom in his back pocket, but then remembered his pants were tangled somewhere around his knees. Cursing mentally, he knelt down slightly to snag the corner of the foil packet and he drew it out to wave it in her face.

 

She stared. “Does that seriously live in your pocket all the time? Even after I—oh Solus.”

 

He rolled his eyes and adjusted his grip on her legs. “I told you, I _always_ carry condoms. You never know when someone’s cool with flashing their boobs.”

 

“That’s _awful_.”

 

“Gonna shut up yet?”

 

“Gonna give me a reason?”

 

He laughed. “I think I just might.” Condom achieved, he held his dick in one hand and moved aside her panties with the other. He angled himself until he thrust into her, and she gasped, her nails marking down his back. He thrust a few times while she buried her face in his neck while her body shook with the tremors, and he tugged her head up with his hold on her hair. “I’ve never heard you this quiet this long,” he told her, kissing under her chin.

 

“Don’t fucking tempt me,” she squeezed her thighs around his waist. “Gonna move, _really_ move, yet?”

 

“Only if you say please,” he teased.

 

She smacked his shoulder. “You are the _worst_.” He pushed her harder against the wall, his hips moving fast. She closed her eyes and groaned when the angle brushed against her clit, but he wanted to wait until she begged.

 

He could feel her clench around him, and stayed focused had never been so hard. Ha. _Hard_.

 

“Damnit, Starscream!”

 

“You’re not saying please.”

 

“You are such an asshole!”

 

“I never claimed to be otherwise.” He hadn’t kissed her since he’d pinned her against the wall and picked up her leg; he changed that immediately. She bit his lip before sucking hard on it, and he groaned into her mouth. “ _God_ , you’re perfect.”

 

He felt her smile instinctively before she tried to quash it. “You’re still an asshole.”

 

“I can finish with you or without you,” he muttered against her ear, “but if you beg, I _might_ be nice and let you come too. Your choice.” He punctuated it with pinching her clit, and she moaned into his ear.

 

It sounded _so_ good.

 

“P-please,” she whispered, closing her eyes. He kissed behind her ear to reward it and flicked his fingers against her clit. “Please! Star-scream.” Her voice broke in the middle of his name, and that was just enough.

 

Still, he had to wait. Even the people who hated him had to admit he was fantastic at sex. He had to bring her with him, and while she was close, she wasn’t as close as he was.

 

And she _did_ beg.

 

“So I’m going to take you to bed,” he informed her. “And we’re not going to leave until I say so. However, if you want to leave before then, just tell me. Or you can let me fuck you until all you can see is stars.”

 

Her breath stuttered in her chest, and her fingers flexed on his skin. “Oh—okay,” she breathed. “Let’s do it.”

 

He played with her clit with the very tips of his fingers. “Come for me, sweetheart. You’re close, and I can promise you _several_ more. Come on.”

 

She did.

 

\--

 

**NOW:**

 

Starscream woke up with a pressing need. There was a girl wrapped around him in his tiny extra long twin bed, and he blinked at her before he remembered he and Windblade had _finally_ had sex (and three rounds) before they’d finally passed out. He smiled sleepily at her and moved out from under her carefully to keep her from waking up.

 

Her clothes were folded over her bag, and he blearily remembered her stripping down after their first round, and she had very carefully folded her clothes. He’d teased her, but it meant she could wear those clothes home, she’d snarked back.

 

He found a pair of sweatpants and pulled them on. Wouldn’t want to _scandalize_ his roommates.

 

He took care of his pressing need, and when he returned, the click of the door caused Windblade to wake up. She pushed herself up a little on her arms and mumbled, “Starscream?”

 

“Sh,” he hushed, sliding back into bed. “I’m here.”

 

The creases at her mouth softened into a smile as she moved to rest her cheek against his chest. He stroked her hair and she hummed—it was a weird feeling, to _feel_ her hum vibrate against his skin, and her eyes slipped closed. It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, likely because she was never awake in the first place, but he stayed awake for a while longer, stroking her hair and tracing the shell of her ear. Her breath puffed against his chest and his skin ran with goosebumps.

 

He couldn’t think of the last time he’d slept with his partner in bed, except for—Skyfire. They hadn’t _slept_ together after their more recent sexual encounters; it was something Skyfire reserved for people he was actually dating.

 

Windblade, on the other hand, had slept _on_ him long before they’d actually had sex. That had never happened before. The circumstances of them having sex were similar to how he had sex—argument sex was one of the best kinds of sex there was, as far as he was concerned—but it wasn’t the _only_ kind of sex he wanted to have with her.

 

God save him, he wanted to—he cringed— _make love_ to her. God. What a horrible term.

 

Her hand reached up to pat his face. He watched as it descended against his mouth and nose—it didn’t hurt, thank god—and she patted his face until she found his cheek. She propped her head up and her eyelids were barely cracked. “Go sleep.”

 

“Why?” he asked, amused.

 

“Loud thinking.” She yawned, but she managed to keep her head up. “Sleeeeep.”

 

“Okay, sweetheart.”

 

She squeezed his cheek and put her head back down. He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep, and before long, he had.

 

Windblade woke him up by climbing over him, and he grumbled at her before wrapping his arms around her waist and turning over to tuck her against him.

 

She pushed at his arm. “Starscream. You gotta let me up.”

 

“No,” he complained, burying his face against the nape of her neck.

 

She inhaled, but she continued to push at him. “Starscream. I have to go to the bathroom.”

 

“Nooooo.”

 

“Yes,” she said patiently.

 

He grumbled again. “Fine.” He let her go, and he rolled away from her to demonstrate his unhappiness. He heard her rustle around, and the door opened and closed. He dragged the covers further up his body and snuggled against the bed. He almost thought he could smell her, and he burrowed further into the sheets.

 

The door opened, and she pushed at his shoulder. “Make some room.” He rolled over to look at her, and his eyebrows went up.

 

She was wearing one of _his_ shirts. That was appealing. He was also seven inches taller than she was, and the shirt went down to mid-thigh. _That_ was amusing. He reached out to play with the hem of the shirt, and if his fingers trailed over her skin, well, it was an accident. “You’re in my clothes.”

 

“Your shirt’s longer than m-mine,” her breath hitched when he ran the edge of his nails along the inside of her thigh, and he smirked at her.

 

Her eyes narrowed and she batted at his hand. “Make some room, you ass.”

 

He rolled over, and when she climbed into bed, he immediately clamped onto her like an octopus. She struggled with him briefly, but they found a position they could both live with, and she relaxed.

 

“So now we’ve proved it to be true. You _do_ belong in my bed.”

 

It also meant she was in the perfect position to jerk her elbow in his stomach and for it to actually _hurt_.

 

“Your bed’s just a little too small,” she said, tiptoeing the tips of her fingers over the top of his hand at her waist. “Sorry, Star. But I _do_ like having some room to move. That was the nice thing about moving out of the dorm, actually. That I could buy a bigger bed than a twin. It felt like I’d finally grown up.”

 

“For two people, a queen is the best.”

 

“Perhaps. We can discuss it later.” She laced their fingers together. “It was nice. Last night.”

 

“We could...do it again?” He tested his tone and found it agreeable.

 

“This morning or anytime?”

 

“...Both?”

 

She laughed. “That’s a possibility. When we have time.”

 

“We have time now,” he observed.

 

Her breath hitched a little. “So we do.”

 

He leaned down to kiss behind her ear—her ears and the skin behind her ears were _ridiculously_ sensitive, and he’d made her come with three fingers in her cunt and her ear between his teeth last night. He pressed light kisses against her earlobe, and her fingers tightened in his as her whole body shuddered.

 

He made sure she could feel his smirk against her skin, and then he bit down. She muffled a small noise, her hips jerking backward against his crotch, and _oh_ boy.

 

There was a loud thumping on the door, and they both jumped. “Starscream,” Skywarp hollered. “Windblade’s roommate is here to pick her up!”

 

“You contacted them?” he muttered.

 

“No, but when I didn’t come home last night they were probably concerned.” She extricated herself from his hold with some difficult, but she managed. He propped his head in his hand as he watched her pull her skirt on and throw her shirt on over his. It looked, well, awful. “And Chromia probably wants to mess with you.”

 

“Oh goody.” He frowned as she slipped her shoes on and put her laptop in her bag before starting to look for her phone. “You could stay, you know. Thundercracker could talk Chromia out of it.”

 

“Yeah, but let’s not make him.” She stepped over to him and kissed him. He curled his hand over the nape of her neck and nipped her bottom lip. She made a disapproving noise and backed out. “I’ll bring your shirt back.”

 

“I want to do this again,” he informed her.

 

“I’m not against it,” she assured him. “Let’s just see how it goes, all right?”

 

He pouted at her and she smiled. “Fine,” he said sullenly. “Wish you didn’t have to go.”

 

She cupped his cheek, and he leaned into it. “I know. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Bye.”

 

\--

 

‘Let’s see how it goes’ quickly turned into OH GOD FINALS ARE UPON US and there was no sex. Starscream raged and grumbled in equal parts between working on papers and cramming for final exams. Windblade tucked herself in and put up barriers until she was the quintessential example of a prim Southern lady, until all was missing was a pair of white gloves and a hat with a birdcage.

 

Or so Nautica observed, anyway. She was rewarded by a pillow thrown at her with lethal precision and a very unladylike expletive.

 

Nautica kept her observations to herself after that.

 

“I’m struggling over this word choice,” Windblade complained into her Bluetooth attachment. “ _Please_ tell me you’re struggling as much as I am.”

 

“I am struggling, but not with Magnus’ paper.”

 

“Oh Solus. Here we go.”

 

“It’s an astrophysics thing.”

 

“You know, if you can’t explain it to a layman you’re probably not as smart as you think you are.”

 

“It’s more like, I _could_ explain or...”

 

“Or...”

 

“You could tell me what you’re wearing.”

 

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” she said flatly.

 

“Nope!”

 

“The fact that you didn’t even—you just— _Starscream_.”

 

“I’d rather hear you say my name in an entirely different tone.”

 

She rested her head in her hands. “You’re the worst.”

 

“No I’m not. Particularly not at _this.”_

_“_ I’m hanging up now. Bye, Starscream.”

 

There was a beat, and then he said delightedly, “You’re still on the line! Are we playing the ‘are we or aren’t we game?’”

 

“I am definitely hanging up now.” She pressed end and pulled the laptop back onto her lap. Her phone rang after ten seconds, and she delighted in hitting ‘ignore’. It would be good for him to languish for a while.

 

Nautica knocked on her door, and she looked up with a smile as Nautica came in. “Hey. What stage of your ass being kicked are your finals coursework at?”

 

“Rock bottom, where you’re being fucked but not enjoying it.”

 

“That is the worst.”

 

“I know, right? So, um. Talking. That needs to happen.”

 

“I can appreciate that you knew ‘We need to talk’ would send my anxiety levels into outer space,” Windblade said dryly. “What’s up?”

 

“You and Starscream. Are you two a thing, or are you two people who occasionally fuck?”

 

“We’ve only fucked the once.” Windblade cocked her head. “Why are you asking?”

 

Nautica rolled her eyes fondly. “After all we’ve talked about, you don’t think I don’t have a right to ask?”

 

“I want to know _what_ exactly you’re asking.”

 

“Are you and Starscream together?”

 

Windblade considered it. “I’m not sure.”

 

“He seems to think so.”

 

“He wants to fuck again. That doesn’t mean he actually wants to date me.”

 

“Are you sure about that?”

 

“No,” Windblade sighed. “But we haven’t exactly had a conventional relationship.”

 

“Dating could still happen.”

 

“Maybe. I’m going to wait and see, though. I don’t want to expend any emotional energy on figuring this out while I still have finals to prep for.”

 

“I get that.” Nautica squeezed her foot. “Just—let me know, okay? You punished yourself for way too long over Starscream misunderstanding you. Which, speaking of, when you get the opportunity, you should probably talk to him about that fight.”

 

“I know, I know, we both had points we were right about but we were also wrong.”

 

“Exactly. Hun, you’re an adult, and he’s an adult. You need to adult about this.”

 

Windblade stuck out her bottom lip comically. “But I don’t wannnnnnaaaaaaa.”

 

“Put that face away,” Nautica admonished.

 

Windblade pouted. “But it’s cuuuuuuute.”

 

“It’s sad, is what it is. You can’t pout with any believability. That boy of yours, on the other hand...he’s a master of the puppy eyes.”

 

“Oh god, he’s used them on you?”

 

“To some effect.” She paused. “Have you talked to your mom lately?”

 

“Phoned her two nights ago.”

 

“And?”

 

“Typical phone call. Complained about finals and stress and lack of sleep because of stress.”

 

“Nothing else?”

 

“We are deliberately avoiding other subjects.”

 

“Gotcha.” Nautica stood up. “Well, finals won’t study for themselves.”

 

“Wouldn’t it be great if they did?”

 

“Even in the Wizarding world, Hogwarts students still have to study. Them’s the breaks.” Nautica patted Windblade on the head. “There are no shortcuts to true knowledge.”

 

“Fortune cookie?”

 

“From last night.”

 

“You said that well, it worked.”

 

“Good, I was working on it.” Nautica ran her hands through her short hair. “Keep me updated, okay?”

 

Windblade wrapped an arm around Nautica’s waist and leaned her head on Nautica’s stomach. “I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starscream says, "Friends also recognize boundaries" as a friend who recognizes practically no boundaries.
> 
> The DJD aren't hugely important in this story--they will be in the third installment, and I'll have face claims then. 
> 
> "Quis custodiet ipsos custodies" roughly translates to 'who watches the watchers'.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are, at the end. I know it's probably felt like a long time coming (and if you think _you_ feel that way...). But this, remarkably, is also not the end! The second installment I'll start publishing in a week, and that's titled 'when you were mine', so keep an eye out for that. It's about 5 chapters, and I'm currently working on the third installment. Since my semester is wrapping up in a few days, I'll have more time to write, and I'm so tickled over what's going to happen in the third installment, you don't even know. 
> 
> This chapter contains one of the filthiest sex scenes I think I've ever written, and it's still vanilla as fuck. If you enjoy it, please give me a shout-out, as I'm not always sure if I'm writing sex in ways that are both realistic and enjoyable to read.

**PART NINE**

 

**_April:_ **

 

“I’m a little surprised to see you here on finals week,” Optimus leaned against his doorframe and stirred his coffee. “Shouldn’t you be living in the library like all the other panicking undergrads?”

 

Windblade rubbed her eyes. “I was, then there was a fight over Study Room 3 that took out two printers and three computer stations. Campus PD moved us out. Nautica’s practically writing on the walls at home as she tries to remember all the theorems she’s studied this semester. That’s what you get for quantum engineering, I guess. I’m just trying to finish this paper for my honors seminar.”

 

“I wanted to speak to you about something, actually.”

 

Windblade pushed her books away so that she could rest her elbows on the desk. “What’s that, sir?”

 

“I’m doing some research over the summer, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to contribute. I’d make sure your name was on the final paper submitted to the _American Journal of International Law_ , but I’d really appreciate your input.”

 

She managed to find the energy to genuinely smile. “I would _love_ to assist you, sir. Thank you. I’m still going to apply to the campus coffeehouse, but yes, I would love to help you.”

 

“Excellent.” Optimus sipped his coffee. “I’ll give you more details when you’re not ready to tear your hair out over finals stress. By the by, I think you’re looking for the _Journal of Linguistic Anthropology_ , Volume 2, Issue 4. It’s buried under your three textbooks.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” she said fervently.

 

“I’m going to order sandwiches. Would you like a sandwich?”

 

The eyes she turned on him were watery and soulful. “Yes please,” she whimpered.

 

“I’ll let you know when the delivery person is out front. You need the walk and the fresh air. In the meantime, get back to work. I expect high marks.”

 

She snapped off a salute. “Will do.”

 

He returned to his office. His International Human Rights students only had to do a final paper, and he was through grading about a third of them. His Intro students, on the other hand, had their final exam the next day, and he’d had the final written for the past three weeks. He’d given them the exam guide two weeks ago. If anyone flunked after that, they deserved it.

 

He heard Megatron out in the main area—he was greeting Windblade, whose response was lackluster. Megatron came in and closed the door, and Optimus put down his pen. “And you are here because?”

 

“I heard there was a sandwich rumor.”

 

“Your information is good,” he said dryly. “I’m ordering roast beef for me and turkey for my beleaguered TA. Your usual?”

 

“Ham and salami or not at all. Beleaguered is a good word for her.”

 

“You’ve noticed.”

 

“There are bruises that are lighter than the skin under her eyes.”

 

“Stress. You remember being an undergrad.”

 

“It was awful.”

 

“I do not have particularly fond memories of it myself,” Optimus agreed. “I was a history major.”

 

“I remember you telling me that. Didn’t you write your honors thesis on postwar structuralism?”

 

“Oh, pleases don’t tell me you looked it up.”

 

“I did.”

 

“Oh no.” Optimus put his head in his hands.

 

“I found it charming in the undergrad way.”

 

“ _Oh no_.”

 

“Order the sandwiches before your TA fades away into nothing,” Megatron ordered as he leaned back in his chair. “You can bemoan the fact that I found your undergrad thesis after you’ve ordered food.”

 

“Why would you even?” Optimus complained as he logged into his desktop. “That’s well over forty years ago now.” He paused. “Christ, we’re old.”

 

“I prefer to think of us as experienced.” Megatron rested his foot on his thigh. “Do you really think your TA will wisp away into nothing?”

 

“If there’s a question for me, Professor Megatron, I’m happy to answer it!” Windblade’s voice was waspish, and Optimus grinned.

 

“Don’t make any assumptions about my TA. After all, she’s _my_ TA.”

 

“So it was a good choice,” Megatron said more quietly.

 

Optimus took a moment. “Yes. It was.”

 

Their eyes met for a moment in perfect understanding, then Optimus turned back to his desktop. “Why are you here?”

 

“I wanted a sandwich.”

 

“You could order one of your own in your office and send your TAs to pick it up for you.”

 

“I could,” Megatron agreed, “but then I couldn’t share it with you.”

 

“Ah, the true point of the matter.” Optimus finished typing in the order. “It’ll be here in about half an hour. Find your TAs too unsettling to remain around for very long?”

 

“I handpicked them.”

 

“And yet you’re not disagreeing.”

 

“Well,” Megatron drawled, “you love to think yourself a keen reader of human behavior, so who am I to stop the ego trip?”

 

“Maybe not a keen reader of human behavior, but I can read _you_. It’s all right,” Optimus dismissed it with a wave of his hand, “you can keep your secrets.”

 

“I’d rather talk about yours.”

 

“You know all my secrets. Why don’t we discuss my undergrad thesis?”

 

“How about--?”

 

“Sir, the dean of the department is on line one for you,” Windblade called.

 

“Thank you, Windblade!” he called back, and made a face at Megatron. “Go bother Windblade while I take this.”

 

“With your permission,” Megatron said wryly as he rose.

 

Windblade was frowning at the journal article, and Megatron dug into his messenger bag until he found a small bottle. He placed it at her elbow, and she glanced at it and then him. “What’s this, sir?”

 

“Painkillers.” He indicated her frown. “You look like you have the migraine of the century behind your eyes. Those are the strongest you can get without a prescription.”

 

She looked down at the bottle again, and then she reached out to take it. She unscrewed the cap and took two. She swallowed them dry and gave him back his bottle. “Thank you, sir.”

 

“You really don’t need to call me sir.”

 

“I find formalities both necessary and refreshing,” she said with a straight face.

 

His mouth twitched. “You make an excellent straight man.”

 

“Thank you, sir.” She looked back down at her research. “Professor, you’ve been teaching for over twenty years. Why are finals hell?”

 

“It’s good for your characters,” he said, his face as straight as hers.

 

“I could do with a little less character.” She rubbed her temples. “I wouldn’t suffer for it.”

 

“You say this now, but years on down the road, you’ll consider this the character-making moments.”

 

“Do you?”

 

“Oh yes,” he agreed. Her mouth was starting to twitch, too. “I think back on my own days of finals and I find I appreciate it as a crucible that annealed who I am today.”

 

Her mouth twitched twice more. “That was an excellent metaphor, sir. I almost believed you.”

 

“Shame, I was believing myself.”

 

“And that couldn’t happen.” Her lips twitched.

 

“Oh, definitely not.”

 

“Windblade,” Optimus hollered, “sandwiches are downstairs.”

 

Windblade stood up. “If you’ll excuse me.”

 

“Windblade!”

 

“Yes, sir?”

 

“Take them to the conference room, we’ll join you.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Megatron turned back to Optimus’ office. “She’s sassing me.”

 

“Good, it should happen more.” Optimus was hanging up the phone.

 

“What did the dean want?”

 

“Oh, he wants me to give a speech to incoming freshman in a month. I told him I’d think about it. Were you hassling my TA?”

 

“I don’t know if I’d call it ‘hassling’ when she was giving as good as she got.”

 

“You’re a professor, she’s a student,” Optimus pointed out unnecessarily.

 

“But she’s not my student.”

 

“Still, the power relationship is implied.”

 

“You told me to bother her.”

 

Optimus looked at him.

 

Megatron sighed. “Fine, I will dial it down. The conference room?”

 

“I’ll join you there.”

 

When they got there, Windblade was already laying out the sandwiches and drinks. “Sir, you’re going to need to refill the dinner allowance in my desk.”

 

“I’ll take care of it.” Optimus sat down. “I got us water, since Megatron is like me and has coffee in his veins instead of blood.”

 

“I have no interest in testing that,” Windblade demurred. “I’m happy with water.”

 

“I expect some of your coffee,” Megatron informed Optimus.

 

“Why would I expect anything else? Did I get you the right sandwich, Windblade?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“You really don’t--.”

 

“She finds formalities both necessary and refreshing,” Megatron told him.

 

Optimus flashed a smile at her, and she tucked her own smile away. “So, how soon until you’re done?” Unwrapping sandwiches were always a noisy process.

 

“I’ve got my last exam on Thursday and then both of my essays are due by 8am on Friday.” Windblade unscrewed the cap to her water bottle. “Then I’m done. At least until the summer semester begins.”

 

“That should be moderately easy,” Optimus shrugged. “Summer classes are heavy on the reading but typically lighter on the work.”

 

“Does that mean you’ve peeked at the syllabus?” Windblade lit up.

 

Megatron wagged a finger at her. “Worry about the classes you have instead one to come.”

 

She drooped. “...right. I just need a break.”

 

“Thus why we’re eating.”

 

Megatron eyed her and Optimus in equal measure. While Optimus had a reputation for acting paternally towards his favorites, this was new. Optimus had badly wanted children with Ariel, and it had devastated him that they had not conceived. Ariel’s disappearance had only made it worse.

 

Megatron ate his sandwich. It was none of his business if Optimus decided to father Windblade.

 

“Finish what you can of your essay,” Optimus advised once they were all done. “Then I’ll take you home.”

 

“You really don’t have to--.”

 

“It’s fine.” He smiled at her. “You think you’re the only one who would appreciate a break?”

 

She flushed. “Thanks. Optimus.”

 

“You’re welcome.” He rose. “Back to work for all of us.”

 

“I’ll see you later,” Megatron said, long-suffering.

 

Optimus rolled his eyes at him. “Indeed.”

 

\--

 

Nautica swore to herself as she fumbled with her keys. She had an exam in forty-five minutes, and she was _not_ prepared. Finally, she found the right one and pulled open the door, and she pushed open the screen door with barely restrained violence.

 

“Whoa! What the hell?!”

 

Nautica stopped. “...Starscream. What are you doing here?”

 

“Exams are over.” Then he saw the stress lines around her eyes and mouth, and he amended, “Well, mostly over. I thought I’d come see Windblade.”

 

The part of Nautica’s brain that wasn’t involved with repeating formulas whirred, but she didn’t have the brainspace to share. “You wanna come in? She stayed up until 5 this morning to get out the last of her essays, but she should be waking up soon.”

 

He shifted. “I think I’ll wait on the porch until she wakes up.”

 

“Yeah, okay. Gotta go.” She locked the door and went on her way, but she made sure to text Windblade. Her roommate would be _very_ unhappy if she knew Nautica had let Starscream wait on the porch without warning her.

 

“Good luck,” he called after her. She waved at him before speeding away.

 

Windblade woke up when her phone buzzed, and through bleary eyes she checked her messages. At first, the knowledge that Starscream was lounging on her porch didn’t wake her up. She typed an acknowledgment and buried herself back in her bed, and then it hit her.

 

She grumbled to herself as she extricated herself from her nest. She slept in leggings and a tank-top, but she needed a sweater. She debated about making some tea, but ultimately decided not to.

 

She did brush her teeth, though.

 

She wrapped her feet up in comfortable socks and was grateful that Chromia was at work and Nautica wouldn’t be home for another two hours. She and Starscream needed to talk, and if they had to argue about it, at least they wouldn’t have an audience. She padded outside of her room and went to the door. Starscream was sitting on the porch and leaning against the pillar, and she was irresistibly reminded of the last time she’d seen him leaning against the pillar on her porch.

 

She doubted, somehow, that they’d end up watching fireworks.

 

She opened the door and leaned against the doorframe. “Hi,” her voice was raspy with sleep, and she cleared her throat. “Would you like to come in?”

 

He looked at her. “Your hair’s down.”

 

She looked down at herself instinctively. She’d taken a quick shower after she’d sent in Magnus’ essay—stress made her feel grimy—but she hadn’t bothered to put up her hair, and she’d forgotten how long it was. It curled around her breasts and down. Wow, it was probably time for a trim. “Yeah. That happens. Come in? I can make tea.”

 

“That sounds really good.” He scrambled to his feet and opened the screen door. She stepped away from the door frame to let him through, and he followed her into the kitchen. “I’ve never seen your hair down before.”

 

She frowned slightly. “Yeah, you have.”

 

“No,” he said pointedly. “It’s always been loosely braided or in one of those ridiculous sorority girl buns.”

 

“I’m not a sorority girl.”

 

“I noticed.” He shifted slightly from his place by the sink. “We—should probably talk.”

 

Her heart clenched in her chest, but she shrugged one shoulder up and down. “Yeah, we should.”

 

He stopped her from filling up the kettle. “About the sex, I mean.”

 

“No, let’s talk about something else first. It’s more important.” She put the kettle on the counter and turned to look at him. She felt smaller than usual, even though she’d been barefoot around him before. “About that argument--.”

 

“It’s not important.”

 

“No, it is.” She breathed in deeply and felt very small. “What you said about my mother--.”

 

“Windblade--.”

 

“You were right. I should’ve told you. I’m sorry.” She frowned at him. “But you shouldn’t have been an asshole to her.”

 

“You’re right,” he said grudgingly. “I...shouldn’t have done that.”

 

She smiled up at him. “So what do you want to talk about?”

 

His face turned unreadable, and she stepped just a little closer. “Starscream, please, before my anxiety gets any worse.”

 

“I’ve found,” he looked like he was eking out the words, “that--.” His face changed to a smirk, almost maliciously, and her eyes widened before he picked her and tossed her over his shoulder. “That I really want to take you to bed now that exams are over.”

 

She drummed her fists on his back, and he hitched her up just a little further. “Starscream,” she growled. “Put me _down_.”

 

“Hm.” He ducked into her room. “Okay.” She shrieked when he dropped her unceremoniously on the bed, but before she could roll off, he settled on top of her. “There, you’re on the bed now.”

 

“Well, you’re not wrong.” She struggled under his weight for a moment—they were plastered together, chest to thigh, but his legs were inside hers. “You were setting up a lead-in and decided to turn it into that you’d really like to seduce me?”

 

“You have an objection to being seduced?” He ducked his head down to kiss her neck, all the way up to her ear, and she arched against him.

 

“N-no,” she stumbled, her fingers twining in his shirt collar, “but we should--,” she gasped slightly when he bit down on her earlobe, and her fingers clenched down, “we s-should—”

 

“Stop talking,” he ordered her. “We can talk later.”

 

“B-but...”

 

“I’m clearly not working hard enough,” he decided, and he drew back. “Shirt off, now.” He pushed the sweater off her shoulders, and she helped him take off her tank top underneath it. He hid his satisfied smirk—so she wasn’t as unaffected as she was trying to be—and kissed her collarbone. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and he felt like a moron for not seeing it before. The tank top and sweater were discarded on the floor, and he pressed kisses from her collarbone to her clavicle. He scraped his teeth against her skin, and she whimpered.

 

He paused. He’d heard her good whimpers; that wasn’t a good one. “What’s wrong?”

 

“No teeth,” she whispered. “Well. No pain. Please.”

 

He leaned upward to look her in the eye. “Since you asked so nicely.” He kissed her, and she kissed him back desperately. He tangled one of his hands in her hair—her hair was so soft—and sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. A small noise escaped her throat, and she bucked her hips against his.

 

He had to pause. _Not yet_.

 

That made her look at him, and she smirked slightly. Her hands were both free, something he promptly regretted when she slid her right hand down his body to fiddle with his pants button. She managed to get the button undone and the zipper down before he regained his presence of mind to grab both of her hands and pin them near the headboard. She struggled, deliberately trying to roll her hips against his.

 

Using his grip on her wrists, he levered himself up onto his knees, and she wasn’t able to follow. “You’re going to keep your hands up here,” he informed her, pushing her hands toward the headboard.

 

“Or what?” She wet her lips with her tongue, her eyes darkening.

 

He leaned down until his mouth was by her ear, and he whispered, “Or I’ll keep you on the edge again and again and I won’t let you come until you’re crying for it. If you play nice,” he shrugged, making sure his lips brushed her ear with every word, and she quivered, “I’ll let you come as many times as you can.” He wove their fingers together. “So what’s your choice?”

 

“They both s-sound good,” her mouth curved thoughtfully, “but I th-think I want to take a third option.” She heaved her body forward, and he wasn’t prepared for her to roll over on top of him. “Your clothes need to come off.”

 

Her on top of him was a nice visual, but not quite what he had planned. He played along while they worked together to pull off his shirt—he just needed to wait until she was distracted enough. She kissed under his chin to his pulse point, one hand drifting down his nipple. He hissed when she pinched the tip and twisted slightly—it wasn’t painful, per se, but there was a slight burn that his brain translated as _meltingly_ pleasurable.

 

“Wind-Windblade--.”

 

“Oh, that sounds good,” she sighed. “Do it again.”

 

His hands cradled her hips, and she rolled their hips together. His pants were still on, but so were her leggings. She tweaked his nipple again, and his hands tightened on her hips.

 

Then he flipped them over.

 

Windblade caught her breath, eyes wide, and Starscream grinned malevolently at her. “Guess you made your choice,” he sang out. “Very well.” He fumbled with his discarded shirt until he’d wrapped it around her wrists. “I’ll warn you now, if you beg, I _might_ relent.”

 

“Fat chance,” she hissed.

 

“Fine.” He pushed himself down her body. “It’ll be fun to see you change your mind.”

 

“What are you--?”

 

“Something I’m very, _very_ good at.” He pulled down her leggings and underwear in one movement and spread her thighs. He settled between them, but he didn’t move to her vulva. Not yet. He had to whet her appetite. He started by lavishing soft kisses on her inner thighs, but before she could clamp down, he tightened his hold on them.

 

He smirked at her, and her cheeks flamed. He made a lewd picture from between her thighs, and she couldn’t look at him for very long. That made him laugh, and he laved at the sensitive skin. She moaned, her fingers holding onto what would likely remain of his shirt, and he continued until there was a mark. “You and me will both know this is here, but no one else will.”

 

“Possessive, are you?” she gasped, her back arching.

 

“Surprise.” When he looked at her cunt, he found that kissing her had done the job. Excellent. He wriggled until he was at a better angle, and she moaned deep in her chest when he kissed her cunt. He flicked her clit fondly with the tip of his tongue, just to get her breath to stutter in her chest, and then he returned to her entrance. He flexed his lips—it wasn’t hard, but _did_ take practice—and moved his tongue forward up and _into_ her.

 

“OhSolusOhSolus,” Windblade babbled, her back arching further.

 

Her thighs were quivering under his hands, and he tightened his grip. Only amateurs needed to use their fingers with their mouths to get their partners off. He kissed deeply, watching his teeth. He’d made that mistake the first time he went down on a girl—teeth belonged nowhere close to sensitive parts.

 

Her quivering turned into full-body shudders, and he pulled away. “You’re getting too close,” he observed, resting his cheek on her thigh.

 

His chin was shiny, and Windblade swallowed hard. “B-but--.”

 

“You chose option 1,” he shrugged. “I’m not going to let you come until you’re crying for it.”

 

She opened her mouth to protest, but he returned to her cunt, and her protest turned into a stifled moan. He was going to leave tiny bruises where his fingertips rested; she was fighting him, hard, and he needed to keep her thighs spread.

 

Her babbling turned entirely incoherent by the third failed orgasm, and he looked up at her. She was _wrecked_ , sweat rolling down her face. Her sheets would need to be changed once they were done.

 

He propped his chin on his hand. “Are you ready?”

 

She set her chin, though her eyes were damp. “Bring it o-on.”

 

“Okay then.” Her orgasm would come by his mouth or not at all.

 

He knelt between her thighs again, and he found her clit with the familiarity of an old friend. He could have gone deeper, but playing someone on a string involved understanding limits. If he went deeper, Windblade would go entirely over the edge and she wasn’t begging yet.

 

It was a delicate game—they both knew he wouldn’t leave her, but the longer she held out, the greater the chance he would give up. She had to submit. It mattered.

 

He toyed with her clit with the tip of his tongue, and she swore at him. “Solus _damn_ it, Starscream--.”

 

“That’s the first time you’ve used that curse,” he wiped at his mouth and gave her his sauciest smirk. “It must be working.”

 

Her hips bucked, and she pouted at him. “Star--.”

 

“You know how to get what you want.” He ran his hand over her stomach and the swell of her breast. “You only have to ask.”

 

“ _No_.”

 

“Fine. I can do this all day.”

 

This time, she screamed, and he vaguely heard the sound of ripping cloth. Well, he wasn’t getting that shirt back. “Starsc-cream,” her voice was breaking, and he knew that meant she was close.

 

“Yes, dear?”

 

Her face twisted, and the words, when she spoke them, were edged with venom. “Pl- _please_.”

 

“Please what?”

 

Her eyes were misting over with frustration. “ _Please_ let me come,” she begged.

 

A thrill ran through him. She had submitted. “I suppose I could.”

 

She opened her mouth to swear at him, but he put a finger over her lips. “Uh-uh,” he chided. “I can choose to just—stop.”

 

Her eyes went wide. “Is that a no?” he said gleefully. “No, _what?_ ”

 

“Pl-please,” she whimpered. “ _Please_.”

 

“You held out an admirably long time,” he mused. “I like this game. We should play it again sometime, but since you did what I asked for...” He resettled himself. “Let’s make this quick.”

 

His jaw was aching, but it would only take a little more—his lips fastened around her clit, and her body quaked as the orgasm ripped through her. She collapsed onto the bed, chest heaving, and he crawled up next to her. “Was that,” she tried to catch her breath, “ _truly_ necessary?”

 

“It was good, though,” he pointed out, reaching up to undo the shirt. Huh, wasn’t as torn as he thought it would be. She had greater self-control than he thought. He used it to wipe his mouth. “Is the best you’ve ever had?”

 

She rolled her eyes at him. “What are you looking for?”

 

“A yes would do nicely.”

 

She tried to shove him, but her arms were floppy. “Worst. You’re the worst.”

 

He rolled onto his side and put his leg over her waist. “You submitted to me.”

 

She licked her hips, color high in her cheeks. “Guess I did. Was that the point?”

 

He smoothed the hair away from her face. “One of many.” He kissed her, and she kissed him back. Her hand settled at the nape of his neck, and she ran the edges of her fingernails down his skin.

 

“You gonna tell me the other points?” She leaned her forehead against his, her breath still coming hard. “Or will I have to guess?”

 

“I think I’d like to keep you curious. At least for now.”

 

Her eyes tracked down his body. “You look like you have a problem,” she observed. “Would you like a hand?”

 

“I’d prefer something else.”

 

“I’m oversensitive, it won’t be fun for a while.” She rested her hand on his hipbone. “But my hands work just as well, and honestly, I’m about to fall asleep because of how you wrung me dry, so if you want to finish off with me, you’d better do it now.” She traced her lips down his cheek to his jaw. “It’ll be more fun than your own hand.”

 

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

 

She pulled back and made a face. “That was _awful_.”

 

“What—oh.” He made a face of his own. “That was entirely unintentional.”

 

“I hope so,” she said seriously. “I don’t like puns.”

 

“Oh good, we agree on that.” He swooped in to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Do you mind? It’s rather pressing.”

 

“Well, that’s an interesting euphemism.” Her hand descended into the top of his pants and she drew out his cock. Her hand was small, but knowing it was her hand? It was almost enough.

 

“Talk to me?” He rested his forehead against her neck. “Won’t take much, but...”

 

“No, I get it.” She shifted, and her hand squeezed his shaft. “I’m not very good at that kind of thing.”

 

“Doesn’t have to be that kind of talk.”

 

“You frustrate me a lot,” she said after a moment, her hand moving faster. He groaned and buried his face in her shoulder. “Why do you do that?”

 

“You want to have this conversation _now?_ ” His voice broke on the last word, and she chuckled.

 

“I think I have some leverage, don’t you agree?” She ran her thumb over the head of his dick for emphasis, and his hips jerked. “So yeah. Why do you frustrate me?”

 

“It’s fun. Plus,” he gasped, “your point of view is too naïve.”

 

“So you,” she rolled her eyes at him. “You’re awful. Why am I fucking you.”

 

“Because you _like_ me.” He grinned like a dope at her, and she sighed and upped her speed.

 

“I need you to be unconscious.”

 

“You do,” he persisted. “You fought Skyfire for me.”

 

“Be unconscious.”

 

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “I like you too.”

 

“How the hell are you still coherent?”

 

“I have very impressive stamina,” he informed her.

 

“ _That_ much is obvious.” She worked harder, and he broke off with another moan. “Unconscious. Like, now.”

 

His hips jerked into her hold, and he pressed his face against her neck as he came all over her fingers. She kept moving her hand through the aftershocks, and when he was finally done, she rose up off the bed to wash her hands.

 

“Still not unconscious,” he called after her. Though it was looking like a _very_ pleasing prospect, but not entirely pleasing on the current sheets. With a sigh, he got up and started to strip the bed. Windblade’s top sheet and blankets had been pushed to the foot of bed long before he deposited her on it, but the bottom sheet needed to go into the laundry.

 

With some relief, he saw the mattress pad untouched. Sleeping on a bare mattress was not entirely pleasant.

 

Windblade returned and made a beeline for her closet. “You’re unmaking my bed now?” she inquired, turning back to him after she found a pair of panties. “Why?”

 

“I had no desire to sleep in the wet spot,” he said loftily.

 

She snorted. “Right. Well, I do have another sheet set.”

 

“I thought you would. Bottom drawer?” He gestured to the chest of drawers under her window, and she nodded as she pulled a shirt on.

 

Her sheets were burgundy. He had no idea why that was so amusing, but before he could air it, Windblade was taking the sheets from his hands. “Why don’t you go the bathroom?” she said, putting down the sheets on her bed.

 

“Not a bad plan.” He watched her look for something, and his eyebrows went up when he saw it was a hair tie. “No—wait. Leave your hair down.”

 

“It’s hot,” she complained.

 

“You’ll cool down soon enough.” He found the switch to the fan and turned it on. “I like your hair down.”

 

Her lips twitched. “Fine,” she grumbled. “Go away.”

 

Once he was gone from the room, she had to stop and breathe for a moment. She felt entirely overwhelmed, even if there wasn’t a good reason for it. She did like him—a lot—and yes, all right, he was _fantastic_ at sex (her thighs were still rubbery), and she was happy to no longer be fighting with him. Yet something still nagged at her. She’d missed something.

 

She lay down on the bed with a sigh. The sheets were a little too crisp, but one night’s sleep would make them comfortable again. What was she missing? Was it related to the slightly creepy way Starscream had watched her while he’d gone down on her?

 

“Move over.”

 

She made a face at him and rolled away from him on the bed, but once he was lying down, she rolled back over to rest her head on his chest. She could think about it later. His fingers started to card through her hair, and she leaned into the touch. “What were you thinking about?” he asked after a beat. “You don’t normally frown like that.”

 

“Just a little overwhelmed,” she yawned. “It was a hard semester.”

 

“I hear that.” His chest jerked slightly with his small chuckle. “I thought Skyfire was going to pass out at the conference.”

 

“Oh, right. How did that go, by the way? I would have asked earlier, but...”

 

He tugged lightly on her hair. “It went well. We’ve got plenty of people who are interested in where our research goes next. If I wanted to get a further degree in astrophysics, I have plenty of people on tap to contact.”

 

“So why not?” She shifted slightly, tugging the covers up and over them both. “It would make you happy, wouldn’t it?”

 

“I have not come to be happy, but to work.” He sounded like he was quoting someone, but she couldn’t place it. “Besides, it’s my fun stuff. I don’t want to build a career on something that’s fun.”

 

“It makes it no longer fun.”

 

“Yep.” His hand moved through her hair, occasionally stopping to drag his fingers over her scalp, and she was getting dangerously close to falling asleep. “I’m going to my hometown in Virginia in two weeks.”

 

“Mm?” she said sleepily. “How long?”

 

“A month.” He cleared his throat. “You could—come with me.”

 

She turned her head to look at him. “Starscream, I—no. My summer class starts in two weeks, and I’ve got jobs with Optimus and the campus coffeehouse lined up. I need the income.”

 

“But--.”

 

She found his hand on his other side and twined their fingers together. “I can appreciate why you’re asking me, but I don’t think we’re ready to go away for a month alone yet.”

 

His eyes were unreadable. “So we’re together, then.”

 

She shifted slightly. “I think? Only if you want to be, I mean.”

 

His hand moved from her hair to cup her cheek. He ran the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone and hummed. “I think I do.” She kissed his thumb when he ran it over her lips, and his eyes softened.

 

“Okay,” she said. “So we’re together.” She laid her head back down. “Now I want to get some sleep.”

 

He snorted. “Don’t ask for much, do you?”

 

“Well,” she dragged it out a little, “I’ve had my orgasm, and so have you. Sleep comes next in my world.”

 

She could hear the laughter in his voice when he replied, “Well, you’re not _entirely_ wrong.”

 

\--

 

Starscream examined the room. Nautica, Perceptor, Skyfire, and Thundercracker were in a knot, discussing the field of experimental engineering. Wheeljack, the one who had spurred the discussion in the first place, was in the kitchen. Chromia and Skywarp, of all people, were sitting on the couch and discussing varieties of alcohol. She had a wider palette than he was expecting.

 

Windblade was laughing and joking with Wheeljack in the kitchen as they started on the first round of dishes—without a dishwasher, it was an all-night task. He did _not_ feel a twinge of jealousy. Her friendship with Wheeljack was shallow, and Wheeljack wasn’t interested in anything he couldn’t make explode.

 

Skyfire glanced at him, and when he saw that Starscream was standing alone, he excused himself from his conversation and came over. He swirled the drink in his cup—knowing Skyfire, it was probably a shot of vodka in some of Nautica’s overly sweet juice. “Hey.”

 

“Hi.” Starscream looked up at him. “How are you?”

 

“Not too bad. I haven’t seen much of you.”

 

He shifted. “Exams, you know how that works.”

 

Skyfire’s eyes softened. “I suppose. I was just telling Nautica, I _love_ what she’s done for the place.” He indicated the halls of the living room, and Starscream didn’t bother to hide his smirk as he looked at the chalk equations on the blue walls. “She says that after the semester is over, they take a day to clean the house from top to bottom. They haven’t gotten to do it yet because of Chromia’s schedule, but they want to do it before Nautica goes home for a week.”

 

“It seems like a charming habit,” Starscream sneered slightly.

 

Skyfire’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that.”

 

“Do what?”

 

“You and your roommates have your own rituals. Don’t diminish someone else’s.”

 

“I’m not,” he retorted. “Thundercracker, Skywarp, and I do something similar. That’s what we did yesterday, in fact. It’s charming that they use it as something positive instead of something merely to _do_.”

 

Skyfire’s eyes narrowed more, but then Windblade was standing there, ducked under Starscream’s arm with one arm around Starscream’s lower back. “Hi Skyfire,” she chirped, her eyes wide and genuine. “How were your exams?”

 

“Awful,” Skyfire said succinctly.

 

She giggled. “Oh, I _know_ that feeling. I get practically no sleep the two weeks of before and during exams. There’s too much work to do, too many things to memorize and test myself on.”

 

Over Windblade’s shoulder, Starscream saw that Wheeljack had taken Skyfire’s place in the conversation with Nautica, Perceptor, and Thundercracker. He squeezed Windblade’s shoulder. “Isn’t there something you wanted to say?”

 

She rolled her eyes at him fondly. “I was talking to Skyfire, you doofus.”

 

Skyfire promptly covered his mouth with his hand but his eyes were crinkling at the corners, damn him. “Please, by all means Windblade.”

 

She sighed dramatically. “If you insist.” She flicked her fingers against her glass, and conversations around the room died as everyone turned to look at her. “So, for starters, thank you for coming,” she told everyone, and Starscream tightened his arm around her shoulders to keep her where she was. “I know it’s been a difficult few weeks.”

 

“I know, right?” Skywarp said, and the slight tension in the room broke in an outbreak of laughter.

 

“Exams are hell,” Nautica chimed.

 

“Yes, we know,” Chromia and Windblade said in unison, pointedly turning to look at the walls. The laughter crested again as the room turned to look at the chalk equations. “Thanks for that, by the way,” Chromia added. “I sleep so much better knowing the equation for faster-than-light travel is on the walls.”

 

“Chro- _mia_.”

 

“Anyway,” Windblade cleared her throat, and everyone turned their attention back to Windblade. “Thank you for coming. I’m pretty sure none of us expected to be here way back at the beginning of the year.” She shifted against Starscream. “I know _I_ never expected this. I am so grateful for all of you and the friendship you’ve given me. Given _us_ ,” she amended, smiling at Nautica. “So I just want to offer a toast. To next year and graduation, but also to this group in this moment. It’s been a hell of a year.”

 

“Hear hear,” Nautica said enthusiastically, and everyone held up their cups—or in Windblade and Wheeljack’s cases, their glasses—and Windblade flashed a smile at them. “To us!”

 

They all drank, and Windblade squeezed his hip as everyone returned to their groups. Skyfire looked down at his cup and said, “I’m going to go get a refill, excuse me.”

 

“Did your finely-tuned senses pick up tension and you came to break it up?” Starscream asked drolly.

 

“Hm. Yes and no.”

 

“How can that be yes _and_ no?”

 

“I saw Skyfire’s posture shift and came over, but I didn’t know if you two were tense or not.” She started to sip her drink, but he grabbed it and took a drink while she wrinkled her nose at him.

 

He almost coughed. “What the hell is _in_ this?”

 

She blinked guilelessly at him. “Vodka.”

 

“What’s the proof, 90?” he muttered, giving it back to her.

 

“Well,” she shrugged. “My high school experience was hooch, so--.”

 

“What the hell is hooch?”

 

Skywarp interrupted him. “Holy hell, Windblade! You have hooch and you didn’t _tell_ me?”

 

She turned to look at him. “You didn’t ask,” she said primly. “But I almost never drink it unless it’s a _really_ good reason. I don’t drink hooch unless I’m entirely happy.”

 

“So I’m a little surprised you haven’t had some yet,” Starscream murmured into her ear, but she shrugged at him.

 

“Seriously, the next time you’re gonna have hooch, call me. I’ve had it once, but that was commercial hooch and--,” Skywarp narrowed his eyes. “ _Is_ it commercial hooch?”

 

“Nope,” Windblade shook her head. “Homemade.”

 

“Hell _yes_.”

 

“Hangover’s not worth it,” Chromia informed them all.

 

“You’re just not drinking enough water before you go to sleep,” Windblade smiled at her.

 

“It’s hard to drink water when it’s strong enough to knock you the fuck out.”

 

“What the hell is hooch?” Starscream demanded.

 

“Moonshine,” Chromia said shortly.

 

“What the— _moonshine?!”_

 

“It’s good,” Windblade demurred. “You don’t need a lot to have that delightfully tipsy loosy-goosey feeling. I have a lot of good memories associated with hooch.”

 

“Yeah, like drinking two shots in ten minutes and then getting on top of the table and--.”

 

“We don’t talk about that, Nautica,” Windblade said, her voice high.

 

“But it was _so memorable_.” Nautica grinned at them and came over. “Windy, here, had a bet from the current person she was dating that she couldn’t drink more hooch than him, and this was in dying days of their relationship, so she was kind of pissed with him, since he was getting her _mom_ involved and--.”

 

“ _Nautica_.”

 

“I, for one, think it’s a fascinating story. Do go on, Nautica.” Starscream’s thin smile was vicious, and Windblade’s fingers tightened on his hip.

 

Nautica beamed recklessly. “Anyway, he was a grade-A douchebag, and he decided to pick a fight at the party after Homecoming our junior year, and Windblade doesn’t fight in public, like, ever. So he’s getting more angry because she’s just not responding to his barbs, but I could see that she was like, _this_ close to throwing her drink on him, and that would have been a fight, so then she interrupts him with ‘You’re not man enough, Bailey.’ Yeah, his name was actually Bailey.”

 

“Nautica, _please_.”

 

“Windy, I don’t get why it upsets you. You were super badass—at least, until the shots hit you and you quickly became substantially less badass.” Nautica tapped her chin. “You wanna finish this story? I was across the room, so I didn’t hear _exactly_ what Bailey said to you in response.”

 

“I will not be telling you what happened after the shots hit me,” Windblade told Starscream severely. “That is none of your concern.”

 

“If you have hooch here, I’m sure that at some point we will repeat the experience,” he murmured, and her cheeks flared. “So what’s the rest of the story?”

 

“Bailey and I were arguing over the fact that he’d gone to my mother to ask what was wrong. I said that he shouldn’t have done that, he contended that _I_ wasn’t saying anything so who else was he supposed to talk to--.”

 

“He wasn’t,” Skywarp interrupted. “Even _I_ know that.”

 

Windblade nodded at him. “So anyway, he was going on and on about what responsibility looks like in a relationship, and I was finally sick enough of it to say that he wasn’t enough of a man to know what responsibility was in a relationship. At that point, one of my classmates came by with an entire jug of hooch, and he grabbed their arm.”

 

“It was Hot Shot, I think,” Nautica told her.

 

“I _think_ you’re right, my memories from that night aren’t very clear. Anyway, he stopped Hot Shot and demanded that Hot Shot pour us both a shot, that he was a man and he would prove it, that he could drink more than me.”

 

“It’s a very Southern thing,” Chromia said dryly. “Because out-drinking someone is _totally_ proof of masculinity.”

 

“I took his challenge,” Windblade shrugged. “We both took a shot, and then I glared at him and took another one. He couldn’t do the same thing. My memories get kind of cloudy after that.”

 

“She charmed the entirety of our high school that was present in the barn,” Nautica confided to him.

 

Windblade flushed. “I’m not sure if ‘charmed’ was the right word--.”

 

“Oh, it became school legend. And Bailey never lived it down.”

 

“You see,” Skywarp informed Starscream, “hooch is distilled from corn, typically. Since homemade moonshine doesn’t have to meet FDA standards, it can be stronger than most alcohols on the market. I’ve heard it compared to absinthe.”

 

Windblade pulled a face. “Who made _that_ comparison?”

 

“He did,” Starscream pinched the bridge of his nose. “So basically, you drank the equivalent of rubbing alcohol.”

 

“Pretty much.”

 

“ _Why is that appealing?_ ”

 

“Because,” Windblade said with a smirk. It looked disturbingly like his. “It blends well with things.”

 

“That’s not a reason,” he grumbled.

 

She leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. “Contradictions, honey. Get used to them.”

 

“I am _already_ well _versed_ in them, _thank you very much_.”

 

“Cards Against Humanity,” Nautica interrupted. “Anyone for it?” She turned over to the knot of engineers. “You in?”

 

Perceptor and Skyfire exchanged looks. “Well, why not?” Skyfire shrugged. “Is this a large enough area, though?”

 

“We’ll move the coffee table around and sit on the floor. We’ve done it before.” Nautica was practically vibrating. “It’ll be fun with this size of group. Chromia’s _ruthless_.”

 

Chromia adjusted her seat, looking pleased. “Well. Yes.”

 

“...right. So where does the coffee table go?”

 

“It can go against the wall,” Nautica told Skywarp. “It’ll leave a big enough open space for all of us.” The two of them got to work, and Windblade excused herself from under Starscream’s arm. He snagged her sleeve to keep her from moving, and she looked up at him.

 

“Are you joining us?”

 

“I’m really bad at this game,” she admitted.

 

“How can you be bad at Cards Against Humanity?”

 

“She’s not drunk enough,” Nautica clarified. “It scandalizes her right up until she’s impossible to scandalize.”

 

“And I have no desire to be drunk tonight,” Windblade frowned at Nautica.

 

“But Windy,” Nautica complained.

 

“Don’t ‘But Windy’ me.”

 

Nautica pouted but went to go hunt down the deck. Windblade sat down on the couch and stretched her legs, and Starscream glanced at how the skirt draped over her thighs and the tops of her knees. She smoothed her skirt over her knees and leaned back against the couch.

 

Skywarp saw the byplay and rolled his eyes. “Okay then. While they play the long game, can we all sit the fuck down?”

 

Windblade gave Skywarp an innocent smile, and Starscream hid a smirk behind his hand as he sat down next to her. “You’re not going to play?” she inquired.

 

“I never said that. I just find this couch more comfortable to sit on.”

 

“You know, I picked out this couch.”

 

“I never would have guessed that from anything like the color or something like that.”

 

“I like red,” she sniffed. “Which you have nothing to say about.”

 

He looked down at his own crimson t-shirt. “I guess so.”

 

“Gather round,” Nautica called to the rest of the room. “The cards are ready.”

 

Starscream slid down to the floor and leaned against her knees. Her feet were bare, and he wandered his fingertips over her toes. She flexed them out from under his fingers. “Don’t,” she warned quietly.

 

“Ticklish?”

 

“You wish,” she said sharply.

 

She was saved from him further tickling her feet by everyone else sitting down. Nautica dealt the cards, and Windblade leaned forward. The black card was “Betcha ya can’t have just one!”

 

She peered down at Starscream’s cards. He saw her looking and he pulled them closer to his chest. “You can see my cards when everyone else does,” he told her haughtily.

 

She poked his shoulder. He batted her hand away and leaned forward to play.

 

The game went on for well over two hours. Nautica’s favorite way to end the game was by playing to fifteen points, but with 8 people playing, it took a long time to get there. About an hour into the game, Starscream found Windblade’s ankle again and started to trace his fingers over her skin. She twitched her foot away and smoothed her skirt over her knees and calves.

 

He pursued her, aware that she didn’t want to draw attention to what he was doing, so after a while she let him keep his hand on her ankle. Her skin was warm, and he absently marked constellations. She shifted her feet after a while, and when he glanced up at her, her cheeks were tinged pink.

 

He smirked at her, and she kicked him.

 

When Starscream turned back to the game, he found Percy’s eyes on him. He glared at Percy, and Percy’s mouth tilted upwards at the corners, just barely. “And with that,” Chromia said, interrupting their nonverbal communication, “I win!” She brandished her cards at them, and Skyfire groaned.

 

“You have a _filthy_ mind,” he informed her. He stretched and then flopped over the floor. “Time to go home, I think.”

 

“Yeah,” Thundercracker yawned. “I still have some packing to do. C’mon, ‘Warp. Before you fall asleep where you are.”

 

“Awww,” Skywarp complained. He got up and pointed to Windblade. “When I’m back, call me for hooch. I mean it.”

 

She patted Skywarp’s arm. “I will, I promise. Let me know when you’re back.”

 

“He’ll be back before my birthday,” Starscream said dryly, hauling himself upright. “I’ll be on my way soon.”

 

“Don’t hurry,” Thundercracker told him with a meaningful look at Windblade, who flushed.

 

Skyfire, bless him, came over to Windblade and kissed her on the cheek after chivvying Skywarp out of the way. “Thanks. This was nice.”

 

She smiled up at him. “We should do it again sometime.”

 

“Perhaps after we also return,” Percy interjected. “Dinner, perhaps?”

 

“Sounds like a wonderful idea.” Windblade pushed herself off the couch to give Percy a hug. He returned it, to Starscream’s surprise, but let her go quickly. “Safe travels.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Wheeljack broke away from Nautica and Chromia to kiss Windblade on the cheek as well, and that twinge of jealousy came back. Starscream held it in as the duo exchanged goodbyes, and then the house was empty except for the four of them.

 

Nautica and Chromia exchanged looks, and Windblade knew what look meant. “You two go on,” she said. “Starscream will help me with dishes.”

 

“I will?”

 

She elbowed him in the side. “He will.”

 

“I will,” Starscream said, long-suffering.

 

Chromia and Nautica didn’t _quite_ believe him, but they vanished into their room and closed the door. Windblade led him to the kitchen and they got to work. Most of the cups and dishes were plastic and paper, respectively, and they gathered them together into trash bags silently. He took the garbage bags out while she wiped down counters and put food away, and when he came back, the kitchen was clean and she was struggling with the lid to the kettle.

 

He took the kettle from her and popped the lid off, and he wrapped an arm around her waist when she took it back and put it under the faucet. “Tea?” she offered. “I was thinking of something herbal.”

 

“Need to stave off the hangover?”

 

“I didn’t even finish my drink,” she rolled her eyes at him over her shoulder. “I meant it when I said I didn’t want to be drunk tonight. I don’t want that to be a habit.”

 

“But you _will_ binge.”

 

“When I’m deeply upset, which is unusual, or when I know that I’m in a safe place, with people I trust, and no obligations the following day. I’m not irresponsible, Starscream. Also, you’re going to need to let me move.”

 

He stepped back. “I’m going to go sit, since it won’t take long for that kettle to boil.”

 

She glanced at him. “Okay. You need anything?”

 

“No, I think I’m good.”

 

“M’kay.”

 

The kettle started to complain shortly, and she found the rose tea she preferred for late nights. It didn’t take too long to steep, and she brought it to the living room not too long after. Starscream was checking his Twitter feed—the position of his eyebrows typically designated which social media site he was using, and when his eyebrows were nearly to his hairline, it meant he was watching some grand meltdown play out in his feed—but he put his phone down when she gave him a mug and sat down next to him.

 

“How soon do you leave?” she asked after blowing on her tea.

 

“In about a week and a half. I’m leaving Bitch with Megatron while I’m gone. It’s a seven hour car drive.”

 

“You driving or flying?”

 

“Driving. I don’t have a vehicle up there.” He sipped the tea and made a face. “I hate this floral shit.”

 

“That’s nice,” she said serenely.

 

“Are you going to miss me?”

 

She looked at him and shrugged. She put her tea down on the edge of the coffee table, and then, while he was still staring at her, she moved over his lap. His hands automatically came to rest on her hips as she adjusted her legs on either side of him, and he obligingly moved away from the arm of the couch so that her shin wouldn’t be pinned. “Yes, I’m going to miss you, you dork,” she said affectionately. “Are you going to miss me?”

 

He considered it. “No.”

 

“Starscream,” she pouted.

 

“Kiss me and I’ll tell you the truth.”

 

“So _that’s_ the name of the game.” She sighed. “Ah well.” She made to get up, but his hands tightened on her waist, and she smirked at him.

 

“Stop that,” he grumbled.

 

“Nope.” She kissed his cheek, and he looked up at her. Her smile was small, and she framed his face with her hands. When she started to lean in, he closed his eyes, but they shot open again when she pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose instead his mouth.

 

“Windblade--!”

 

“Hush,” she murmured, tilting his head up. “You like control? So do I, so _be quiet_.”

 

Amazingly, he was.

 

She placed gentle kisses on his cheeks, and when his eyes closed, she kissed his eyelids. His hands flexed on her hips—nothing that could be considered controlling her, just that he needed something to hold onto. “Shame I’m not wearing any lipstick,” she mused, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You’d be covered in lip prints like a cartoon character.”

 

“Oh good _god_.”

 

“I think you’d look good like that.” She slid her hands down to his neck, and they both froze for a moment. When he didn’t relax, she moved her hands to his shoulders and his hands came up her sides. “Really,” she added after the tension faded. “ _Very_ good.”

 

“You know what _I_ think?” He pulled her up and twisted over at the same time, until he was pinning her against the couch. She grinned up at him and he searched for her hair tie.

 

“You’re gonna tell me,” she replied, shaking her hair free once he pulled the tie loose.

 

“I think you’re trouble.”

 

“Pot and kettle, sweetheart.” She arched her back to grind their hips together. “You don’t even have the right to criticize me on that front, you know.”

 

“Maybe not.” He ducked his head down to the curve of her neck and shoulder and bit down. It wasn’t very hard—he knew she didn’t like pain—and she gasped. “But it’s fun.”

 

“Jerk.”

 

“I never claimed to be otherwise.” He frowned down at the mark on her shoulder. It could be more apparent. “Now, be quiet. I would _hate_ to wake up your roommates.” He bent down again, and Windblade’s mind stopped working for a while.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it for now! I hope everyone survives their finals, and that your hated professors get what they deserve.


End file.
